Patch me up

He chuckled, surprised by her request. It seemed the wolves of Valhalla were determined to surprise him at every turn. He sat on the earth, allowing The stranger an easier reach of his coat. He could accept this trade, even if it was a peculiar one.

He waited well she ducked back outside the cave to grab whatever she spoke of. He spent the time considering, thinking, what he could tell her. She wished to know of the packs of Boreas. What did he know?

When she returned, he began. “Winterfell is North of here, led by a man who fancies himself a noble warrior. He attacked the pack he was allied with recently, and I wiped the floor with him and his second perhaps a year ago. I know little else of him. Abaven lies to the Easten shore, their leader is young, but brave. I believe most of their wolves are healers, or lost souls. I haven’t interacted much with the other packs, but the Armada - where I hail from - is a pack of closely knit wolves, warriors, for the most part.” he finished. Surprised by his own lack of knowledge by the packs of the land. “Thank you-” he raised his voice in a question, realising he hadn’t caught her name. “I’ll be sure to do that”