I'll just be over here...

If Hallvarðr had noticed the surprised look the Fatalis girl gave him when he snatched up the wine, he didn't give any sort of reaction. He simply waited until she'd collected her own food and drink and then followed her to where she chose to sit and eat. Hal laid down on a fur beside her near the fire and began to swiftly tear through the hunks of meat he'd gathered, fangs ripping through the meat like a ravenous beast. Everything was delicious, from the cooked and seasoned meats to the fresh and bloody ones. The Hallows certainly knew how to prepare a feast!

Devouring the food like the growing, starving dire boy he was, Hal didn't make much conversation at first until Wynter spoke up, asking if his pack had a lot of wine back home. Pulling his lips from the bottle he'd half drained, the heathen brute gave a lick of his lips and shook his head. "Nah. We make mead mostly. It's much better than this stuff, but it's good enough to drink," he remarked, taking another draught from the bottle as if to make his point. The bittersweet liquid washed over his tongue, the soft burn of alcohol running down his throat making him feel alive. Still wished it was mead though.

"So where's home for you, Wynter?" he asked, his accent getting heavier the more alcohol he consumed, the Nordic tone tinting his words rather than slurring them. Hallvarðr wasn't much for small talk and conversations, but he managed when it was needed, or when a pretty girl was involved. He assumed home must've been far away from here if the wines were hard to come by and the Hallows seemed to have plenty to go around.

"Hallvarðr Trygg"