Larksong Grotto right to bear arms

death is a hunter’s friend, but madness? that is something else entirely.
he turns his eyes back to her, sharp and ice-pale beneath the morning light. hearing her words and grunting in agreement, shallow.
ulfric of skarvheim. he responds with a exhale and begins to shift upon paws, leading back into the center of his grotto, towards the hut he has fashioned for himself.
and what name does the north give you?