Battlecries!

The man turned to look at him, bearing the gaze of one that appeared half blind. Beauregard did not judge him for that, having been shown by both of his grandparents that you never underestimated another, and that a disability was only as hindering as a wolf allowed it to be. The short huff was noted, but Beauregard did not hold it against him. His grandfather had a similar response to such questions, having little patience for him seeking confirmation or stating the obvious. Garm… the name held a foreignness much like his grandfather’s own… as was his accent.

Beauregard gave a small shrug at his statement.“Grandfather Bjørn often said that it is not the tales of other men that determine who you are, but what you make of yourself.” His gaze shifted toward the stone that Garm stood before, his expression thoughtful as he continued. “...and as I took my pilgrimage, and carved a life of my own, I have seen the truth in his words. So I do not wish to know what others consider you, Garm.” Beauregard looked back to him, tilting his head to the side.

“But what is it you consider yourself?” There was a curious light in his gaze. Did the man consider himself an honorable warrior or a monster? And, if it were the latter, why? What path did Garm lead?

"Speech" 'Thought.'