Dawnlark Plains θ

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with silentsnow he had hunted. boon given in the spraying breath of white feathers and fat-laced meat. determinedly did northman stalk the frozen taiga, looking for the tell-tale dark lines of their beaks, the birds nested down into the snow.

attention seized the man. a vaguely familiar wolf approached, and skorpa left off his hunt to allow this discourse's beginning.

scents exchanged. "du er en af de rensdyrjægere," bearfang observed, proverbial arm slung over the haft of metaphorical axe. "hunting?"

something was rather wrong. off. he knew its smell: conflict.

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