Neverwinter Forest living on a promised word

the call drags him from half-sleep.
he rises slow, shoulder stiff from rest, but limbs still heavy with strength. a shake of his pelt sends moss and fragments of hare-fur scattering from his den. steam hisses from his nostrils as he steps into the cool dawn mist.
it is a short ways from where his den carved deep into the tunglhjarta. he limps his way, eyes searching in the cool dawn, squinting briefly past the mist and fog that permeated like a shawl against the forest. it is there at the border he finds a young man, pale of coat with fiery accents.
raedwulf only watches for a long moment, brown eyes flat and unreadable beneath furrowed brow. his broad frame blocking the narrow path between trees.
then—
hwæt eart þū?