[center][h2][color=999999]Thurin Stoutarm[/color][/h2][/center] 

Unlike his comrades, Thurin walked. He was more sure footed on the ground, and only truly had his sturdy horse for hauling extra goods or, if need be, quick getaways. The Dwarf trudged through the snow, no complaint on his lips. He kept his silence for the most part, other than a few grumbles he gave as he tried to finish the last two verses of a small song he was making. His horse snorted, the beast's mane covered in snowflakes just as Thurin's black beard and hair was. 

They stopped for tracks, and the Dwarf nodded sagely at the find. It wasn't the bear just yet, but he kept his Axe close to his side nonetheless as they began to march forward once more. A voice rose up, and Vamyr called the Dwarfs name. "[color=999999]Right.[/color]" the Dwarf said, taking his Axe out. It wasn't a threatening or aggressive gesture, but it was clear the Dwarf agreed with the man's curt assessment of the situation, and he stood tall (for a Dwarf) and vigil.