There’s a reason those spirits walk for an eternity on the endless sea of ice, don’t listen to their cries and don’t believe a word they say. Besides, the werewolves live out that way. The last thing you’d want is for them to spill your own crimson across the snow.
Instead you should seek out Inara’s peak, you’ll be safe here in the eye of the storm from the blizzard that has claimed the lives of Jarl Einar and his company. That wretched village of his will soon collapse, and all that will remain will be the low resounding whistle of the Howlgate. You have to trust me on this one sweetie, Granny knows best.
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