Thunder Dome well the raven is a wicked bird

the silvered ghost adjusted his stride, allowing thorn to walk abreast of him. he found the pace mahler dictated easy to match, allowing him to sniff and scent the pine-laden air at his leisure.

little evidence of prey abounded, but the oilspill predator kept attention. as they walked, the grizzled veteran besides him asked of thorn's history here, which earned a rounded shrug of the brute's large shoulders. "no." it seemed as if that was all the answer mahler would get, but then thorn spoke once more. "have you?"