Grouse Thicket Where the wild things are.

Maybe he's slow. He certainly doesn't seem to be 'all there' at any rate, which distracts Stryx from her perusal of the earth. Most of what she's looking at is in pieces, or has been crushed in to the mud. Nothing can be salvaged at this point. She looks upon him then, hears his mutterings, and then shrugs. Not everyone knows the value of the world around them, the bounty that can be collected, nor are they expected to. He is a man; his calling is inevitably bloodier. She won't hold it against him.

Nothing in particular. She answers finally, pawing at a cluster of loosened moss he must have kicked up before the plunge. There is a smattering of red across a piece of it. The blood is already dry, absorbed by the sphagnum. It is almost purple as a result.

You are a hunter then? Or merely passing through. Idle chatter isn't her forte. It doesn't hurt to practice a better bedside manner though, and she sees no harm in his company - odd though he seemed.