Will you let me go

Browbeaten by the heat, there's hardly a tree in sight. The Prairie spreads out in every direction, grasses still-- no sign of a friendly breeze. He dwells on it long and hard, nerves frayed from the relentless weather. How did anyone live like this? Perhaps it's in Björn's nature to bitch about it. He doesn't like any part of it, the warmth soaking him without reprieve. How did anyone live like this, actually? How did anyone enjoy this.

The area is rich with prey, at least. He can smell them, though they're somewhere far out of sight. A gentle roll in the land would keep them safe for now. Not that he'd drag himself up to hunt them, at least not until the sun slipped beyond the horizon. Observing the landscape with a critical eye, of course no pack had settled here. No shade. In the winter, nothing to stop the drifting of snow, Björn could imagine.

Right, there's still a girl here. She's watching him with curious eyes, and oh-- a question. "Nah, stay sharp all year." He's gruff, her incessant cheer weighing on his heat addled mind. Fairytale, she's called. "Björn." It seemed she really did want to have a conversation, though the rot prince doesn't consider himself friendly.

"No. I'm from the mountains, in the north." Though, not so much, anymore. Was Björn from anywhere, these days? Things were different now, but he supposed he's still from there. A lot had changed in his year and a half, but those weren't things that mattered anymore. He was trying not to let them matter. "It's too hot to hunt, but I suppose we can go looking for some shade." With a grumble, Björn climbed back to his feet once more. If he's going to suffer with cheerful company, then he supposed they can go looking for somewhere a bit less oppressive. "Are you familiar with the area?" Manners. He'd remember his manners, or at least try.

"Björn"