Sawtooth Spire the art of war is of vital

the tundrain falls victim to an absentminded lull the comforting routine brings with it. would he have scented anything unusual upon the borders, he would've been immediately more aware but as he does not it is too easy to fall into familiarity and allow his mind to wander. he doesn't think about anything in particular now as he moves at a leisurely pace at sagtannet's borders. the lull is broken only by the sound of a polite chuff sounding from somewhere nearby — within the borders, he notes.

a scan of glacial gaze is given; nearly missing her at first. too easily she blends into the snow but he does see her then and offers her an amiable wag of his tail and an inclination of his head in invitation to join him if she wishes. ❝hello,❞ the tundrian warlord greets her, recognizing her from courtfall though they were never officially introduced.

still, despite that, she chose to trust and follow him; for that wintersbane is more grateful than he can put into words. ❝we've never been properly introduced. i'm wintersbane, though andraste called me melkor.❞ the tundrian offers her with a soft smile, realizing that many of courtfall's number would recognize him as 'melkor' before 'wintersbane' ( except those from blackfeather woods ).