Neverwinter Forest Miss Misery

Ocean's Breath Plateau? Whip did not recognize the name, but his unfamiliarity with the pack was the source of his relief. As far as he knew, it wasn't an offshoot of Themiscyra -- and this woman, as much as she smelled of sea salt, was no Siren. He was safe now, and would be safer with others. With a group of strangers and a new name, Whip could hide in plain sight. The prospect of no longer having to live constantly looking over his shoulder was tempting. He was drawn to her unspoken offer.

"My -- My skills?" he asked. Whip looked down and his ears splayed back. He thought hard for a second, but came up with hardly any answers. His time with the Siren's hadn't fostered many practical skills. That isn't to say he hadn't learned; he learned to swim, he learned their language, and finally he learned survival meant making hard choices.

"I can identify some useful plants, I guess," he told her, thinking back to his brief lessons with Galatia inspired by his sister's example. "I mean -- a few. There's some gaps." Otherwise, he couldn't think of much else to say. Atleast, postive things. He hated himself too much to toot his own horn.