He grinned back at her concession of victory as if to say, Of course I did.

Then laughed, a clear ringing sound over the snowbanks. Aha! Sorry to say, I'm only a tourist. I can give ye the short of it, but not the long.

Riverdark eyes turned skyward. Welcome to Mythris. Folks wander in from all over. Different times. Different places. Fae and gods and men and wolves. Legionaries and Celts. Witches. Wyrms. A real motley crew, in his estimation.

Couldn't say why. It's a finicky spell. Has a mind of its own, I think. Some found salvation here and others ruin. But fate seemed to be work of their own wills, not some predetermined force playing chess with wayward souls.

A paw lifted up to brace the pipe, thoughtful. But the land's right angry, these days. Hence the oppressive dark and all that. Trying to choke wolves out, for fear we'll grow too many and too hungry, and start takin' more from the land than its roosters. He winked.

Whatever brought them, and whatever wanted them gone, were not in alignment. He sensed a wider battle of wills at play. He forewent open speculation in favor of a warning, And there's flames dotted about, guiding in lost souls from the cold. Putting notions in their heads. Be mindful of the smoke.

Then stood, offering a wag and apparent intent to follow into the brush, I'll share a hen with you, if that suits. Half an answer for half a bird, eh?