Greatwater Lake let sleeping dogs fry

Oh, Osprey knew, what a pull meant. The wanderlust gene that had lied dormant for so many years had got stronger over the past year. Not only was it a pull, sometimes it was a sudden gust of wind out of nowhere, bringing foreign and exotic smells, beckoning her to give in and follow, find out, what it was, for herself. More than once had she found herself meandering around pack borders, feeling the urge to go now, leave everything behind, to be on the road, to have adventures. An Osprey two years ago wouldn't recognize the woman she was now.

"It is good that you view things that way," she shrugged. Had anyone tried to eat Osprey, she would have a long lasting trauma from the experience for weeks and months to go in the worst case. Artax seemed to brush it off lightly and explain it as the doing of his gods. "What are you good at? Besides surviving?" she asked the next important question. If she was to bring him to the plateau, then she had to present him well to Dante.