Neverwinter Forest said he was a sailing man

Luhtar listened in silence, his gaze fixed on Catamaran as he spoke. The other wolf’s words carried a weight that Luhtar found unusual—practical, sure, but there was a distance to them, like he was explaining something he himself wasn’t entirely attached to. The idea of hunting for others, for safety, gnawed at Luhtar’s understanding.

There was something unsettling about it, yet Luhtar couldn’t decide if it was the act itself or the calm detachment with which Catamaran spoke of it. It made sense, in a way, but it felt hollow to him. Safety as a vocation didn’t fit neatly into Luhtar’s world—a world where loyalty was born of shared struggle, not contracts or circumstance.

When Catamaran finished and settled into the detritus, Luhtar hesitated before following. He lowered himself slowly, his larger frame making the movement more deliberate. He sat stiffly, his tail curling loosely around his paws, though his posture betrayed a readiness to move again if the moment demanded it. His yellow eyes stayed trained on the bounty hunter, not unkind but measuring, like he was still trying to piece this wolf together.

“You work hard for wolves who do not know your name,” he said, his voice rough but not unkind. “Hunting killers, guarding princesses. A dangerous life for little thanks.” Luhtar could respect it.

He glanced away briefly, his ears flicking toward the distant rustle of leaves. The question lingered, and though Luhtar didn’t expect an immediate answer, his own thoughts pressed on him like an itch he couldn’t reach. Wolves like Catamaran, loners who survived on the edges of packs and societies, always left him uneasy. They were strong, sure—but strong for themselves, not for others.

That strength was foreign to Luhtar, whose loyalty had always been tied to something greater than himself.

“Loners don’t last long where I come from,” he said after a pause, his voice quieter now, almost thoughtful. “The snow is too heavy, the nights too long. A wolf alone either joins a pack or doesn’t see another spring.” His gaze returned to Catamaran, sharper now, though not unkind. “But you’ve lasted. You’re strong. That’s why Solharr let you stay.”

His ears twitched, and his jaw tightened slightly as the words continued to spill out, steady but deliberate. “But when spring comes, what then? Will you stay with us? Or will you keep moving?”

The question was blunt, as was his way, but there was no challenge in his tone—just the faintest hint of something expectant, as though he genuinely wanted to hear Catamaran say he would stay. Of course, Luhtar wasn't betting on it. The hope, the trust, that he put in others had always been his greatest weakness. It had hurt him time and time again.