Mørkedrømevandrer

Slicking his hair back with blood from a fresh kill as he turns the spit over the fire, two fresh rabbits offering their flesh to sustain warriors in a hard day's work, the Wanderer considers the course of their journey and what that might signify.

"Were I a blood-thief coward hiding from the iron price, I might litter my trail with troll-spoor to throw off any pursuit. Perhaps our minds-eye would be well served to seek for truths among the filth we find around us."

Once another is sufficiently risen to handle the preparation of the morning's meal, the Nuk lives up to his name and wanders off, eyes scanning the ground for any sign of what might lie ahead, or what might lead them on their journey.

Spoiler: OoC
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(1d20+6)[21] Survival