Sawtooth Spire brandzahn

it is the sound of frightened sheep that draws wintersbane from his patrol at the sawtooth's lowest reach; drawn away and inland by their panicked cries. glacial gaze watches them wearily for a moment: they've always struck him as stupid creatures ( perhaps unfairly ), needing someone to herd them into formation, into telling them what to do. they panic but they don't actually go anywhere. careful to avoid getting headbutted or kicked his gaze comes across the form of mahler lounging against a ridge; the assumed source of their panic.

wintersbane makes his way towards his fellow eisen, snapping his teeth threateningly at a sheep that gallops a little too close before he hops upon the ridge. ❝you keep making grim faces like that and your face is gonna get stuck like that.❞ wintersbane cracks with a snort of amusement at his own joke. ❝but seriously brother, why the grim face?❞ if anything, wintersbane thought mahler had a lot to be happy about.