Luneshale Pass looks like there's no more room in hell for me

she asks a question he too wants an answer for, which forces a dry, humorous chuckle to rumble from the depths of his throat.

his answer begins with a shrug, as if to suggest he isn't sure. but then, in a low, husky baritone, he adds, can you? it's as if he believes she has the answer, rather than playing along with her assumption that he knows what it is he wants from her, or this place he has been led to by the scents of, more than likely, her people.