Board Thread:Roleplaying/@comment-25828117-20160716191324/@comment-5543592-20160717213657

"I'm Steven Dufrey." He told Jo.

Randall had heard her coming from half a mile away... and done nothing. He'd taken to the trees before she'd shown up, judged her not a threat, and then returned to his camp. He gnawed on a half-cooked slab of meat, sitting on a top of large rock, some kind of wolf creature at his feet. His camp was a mismatched bobble of things: a shelf that had useful items stored on it made from bones and sticks tied together, an ancient wheelbarrow, a smallish cage that looked like it had been the wolfdog's home when it was a puppy, and a massive sword made from bone that lacked a point but had a double edged obisidian blade that leaned against one of the black stone walls of his alcove.

"You lost?" The convict asked aloud, not looking up from his meal, although the wolf lifted it's head to watch the woman with keen eyes. He had a rough way of speaking, like there was something perpetually stuck in his throat. "No one come's out this way.  I chose it 'cause of that."