Where the fuck did all of these kids keep coming from?

Okay, maybe being the weird hermit living in the mountains has backfired. Maybe avoiding people isn't super good for him. He's been talking to himself more and more, consulting the bones and the spirits whenever possible, to the point where he's spending more time outside the packlands than in. He's been quiet, too quiet, and he's fairly sure he's fallen out of everyone's minds. It might be easier that way, honestly, to disappear and be forgotten.

Maybe then he'd stop being such a fucking disappointment.

But moping aside, whose child is this? He supposes it's... one of the people he talked to like twice. Fuck. Names elude him. But she's out here, blowing snot bubbles in the snow, and he holds back his disgust. "The Five help those that seek it," he calls as he keeps his distance, somewhat. If she's got a cold, he doesn't want it. "And I hope you're not seeking trouble. The demons answer to that readily."