“Pack hmm?” There were two wolf pups that Lilith showed off. One with her, and another that a superiorly drunk young man carried. The sight of Drek gave Emmerling a light smile. He had his first beer at ten, and he had not been able to concentrate properly. Words slipped his mind and his reflexes had been dulled. Generally he had made a mess of things that night that the potter did not forget for several months. Drek reminded him of his youth.

“These ain’t a pack. They’re people.” He tore himself from a reign of nostalgia and turned to Sarrai’a, “We ain’t animals. Least we shouldn’ act the part.” 

Emmerling picked up the pace slightly as the group trudged headlong into a muddy causeway in Fort Mundy and toward the gatehouse. His heavy brow reddened with the effort, and a sheen of sweat started across his face. The carpenter was used to the weight of the tools on his back, but the effort still sped his heart to a race, and it urged a continued wheeze from out of his throat. Through the camp they went, and they passed faces familiar to him, those that waved respectfully to the guild members and with quiet salutations to Cliver and Emmerling.

“Some of these men’ve been here for some months.” He said stepping beneath the gatehouse with a huff of breath. “Me? I’ve been here bout a year. It’s good work, very good work.” Emmerling nods to himself not caring if anyone was listening to him or not. “ ‘fore we go any further, do ya’ll have all you came with? Where’s the Halfling?”

His dark eyes dully glazed over the band and then over the fort before he abruptly said, “I am Emmerling if ya’ll didn’t hear and cared to find out. I’m a carpenter. Best damned one in this region.”