Nate !
Nathaniel knows the dog well enough to look up at the sound of her voice. She never warns of nothing, and sure enough a woman appears, small at first, just a pinprick of black against the desolate brown of Deepfrost’s leaving. Straightening up, Nathaniel catches his breath as he watches her approach. The cabin is out of the way, set back against the trees. It is a place of shadows and quiet, though today it sounds like anything but. What is a stranger doing out here?
Outlander, probably. Nathaniel hopes in earnest she didn’t just show up. She appears better equipped than some he’s seen, thick furs turned toward the cold. Maybe she’s exploring, then. Small, alone, she poses little threat. He whistles for the dog.
A moment of thought, and the dog bounds back, circling around the chickens as if counting them. Nathaniel ignores her, moving instead toward the stranger with long strides. Her voice is sweet, friendly, when she calls out. As if she came out all this way to offer help. No one comes out all this way. The man who built the house built it here for a reason, monsters be damned. Nathaniel remains here for similar reasons, though he finds the value of the place lies mostly in what it is not — close to the settlement.
“Help?” he calls, his voice a sober baritone in answer to her sweeter sound. Nathaniel hesitates as he considers, his gaze sweeping the mess of the yard, the dog, the birds. The work always went faster when he had another pair of hands to share it. His expression shifts, unfathomable, and his weight shifts, too, as he looks back at her. “Sure, I guess. There’s a wheelbarrow over there.” With a gesture toward one side of the house. He doesn't really expect her to go fetch it. Why would she? Probably just didn't expect to find him out here. Probably about to wander off again, get eaten by something. But — “Watch out for the rooster,” he adds, just in case. He’s not sure where the thing’s gone off to. Maybe eaten by a fox.
As if he’d be so lucky.
Outlander, probably. Nathaniel hopes in earnest she didn’t just show up. She appears better equipped than some he’s seen, thick furs turned toward the cold. Maybe she’s exploring, then. Small, alone, she poses little threat. He whistles for the dog.
A moment of thought, and the dog bounds back, circling around the chickens as if counting them. Nathaniel ignores her, moving instead toward the stranger with long strides. Her voice is sweet, friendly, when she calls out. As if she came out all this way to offer help. No one comes out all this way. The man who built the house built it here for a reason, monsters be damned. Nathaniel remains here for similar reasons, though he finds the value of the place lies mostly in what it is not — close to the settlement.
“Help?” he calls, his voice a sober baritone in answer to her sweeter sound. Nathaniel hesitates as he considers, his gaze sweeping the mess of the yard, the dog, the birds. The work always went faster when he had another pair of hands to share it. His expression shifts, unfathomable, and his weight shifts, too, as he looks back at her. “Sure, I guess. There’s a wheelbarrow over there.” With a gesture toward one side of the house. He doesn't really expect her to go fetch it. Why would she? Probably just didn't expect to find him out here. Probably about to wander off again, get eaten by something. But — “Watch out for the rooster,” he adds, just in case. He’s not sure where the thing’s gone off to. Maybe eaten by a fox.
As if he’d be so lucky.
