No, It's Not a Clay Pigeon

Wyndelin shook his head at Lynvarr's question. "No, I was born and raised here. Well, not here here but in Boreas." He'd grown up in the west and of course he'd heard of Valhalla. He knew that they were allies of Lirim and they certainly knew how to throw a party! Wynde looked about in the bundles on his travois and pulled out a piece of flint which he set down on the ground need the wood. He then grabbed a piece of steel. He set one paw on the flint to hold it still with his weight. Then, with the steel in his teeth, twisted his head sharply so that the steel struck against the flint. He repeated the process several times until at last the kindling caught a spark and slowly grew into a small flame. Wyndelin watched as the fire spread from the kindling to the sticks and the fire grew and grew, finally when it was going well he relaxed next to it.