cutting through the airwaves

[Laurel Booth]

My brain says that Hel would have an accent, so club me if I'm off. ;_;

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His defensive stance settled into something much more friendly, as displayed by the smile that scrawled across his face. She introduced herself at Natt and through the slight accent he could tell that she definitely wasn't from around the area. That being said, neither was he, but her occupation pretty much out ruled any notion of her from being around there. Still, it had a tone that he felt like he had heard once before, even if he couldn't place just where. Not that they had possibly met anywhere along the road, but he had met some people with an accent so thick it was worse than the stickiest oatmeal. “I can't say I've ever met a merchant before, and I've met a lot of faces out there. But, uh, I'm Laurel and I guess you could say that this a pack. I'm only one of the people who head it up and we're a bit more like a band of gypsies.”



He peered back over his shoulder then, eyeing the wisps of fog as they moved through the dense forestry. Somewhere back there was the core centre of his little supposed “pack” and he was happy that it had come together all the same. “I could give you a tour if you'd like? It wouldn't be a problem at all and this forest is pretty much once you get past the mugginess sometimes. It's cooler in the shade, anyway,” and since she was wearing a cloak, just like the fact he was wearing clothes, they had fur underneath. Not really the best things to be wearing in the hot weather, he reckoned. But it was the things that defined them best, she as a merchant and him as a very, very strange coyote. With a hat. And occasionally strumming the banjo!

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