[ilienne follows his gaze, half-lifting the flask to her own lips, half-focused on the wolves now fleeing the forest with strange desperation. that particular forest is not known to entertain much wildlife, especially not now that the calamity has driven most forest-dwelling creatures from the highlands and lowlands. she frowns.]

Whatever could have startled them, I wonder.

[it isn't a question; her tone is dark. she tips her flask backward, taking a bracing gulp of the selfsame warmwine estinien just sipped; hot chocolate would do just as well, in truth, but the benefit of the wine is that its spice lingers in her belly and her throat as she contemplates the horizon. as she screws the flask closed, she counts off a few possibilities on her fingers.]

There's not much that would trouble a pack of wolves in these parts. Ogres. Yetis. A messenger, perhaps.

[she stows the flask back in her cloak pocket, and then continues:]

Dragons... Heretics.