Dragoncrest Cliffs Lo-Fi Listening

Njord matched pace as he pulled up besides Grímnismál, a bit oblivious that the young woman might have preferred a larger personal bubble. “Patients?” he asked, his kind expression becoming curious. “Are Rusalkans sickly often?” he asked with genuine concern. The man had never been to the mainland before (perhaps wolves fell ill more frequently, here) and he didn’t know anything of war. His family lived on an island and only had a traders pass by every rare moon, using a narrow land bridge to cross the sea. The wolves of Meares were scarcely injured.

“My name’s Njord by the way,” he added, “what’s yours? Maybe I can help you look for a good den… or dig you a new one!” he offered, a bit excited to show off his tough-guy-man-strength and prove himself.