[b][h2][centre]Leofric Aelwinovich[/centre][/h2][/b]

Leofric was another, like Síobhra, who seemed to have invited himself with little discussion as to his intent. He had no gift of flight to take him away from the group for hours at a time but shared about as few words. Instead he lingered near the back of the group, following behind and affecting a sentinel-like disposition whenever the group paused to talk. 

Which he did now. 

His steel blue eyes squinted, and traced their way up the frozen cliffs, then ran along the slopes and distant peaks, and finally up into the sky itself. His brow remained furrowed as though constantly searching for some sign the whole mountainside was about to come down on them.

The man said little, and even less about himself. While it was obscured now beneath thick furs he wore, all present had enough chance over the trip to see the man's battlegear; there could be no question the man had been through several battles. The cloak he wore bore the faded emblems of a Jugkraian holy order that some present might recognize as one that had been defunct for nearly twenty years now amidst the Jugkraian civil wars.

Which made sense. The man seemed at home in the mountains. If anything the furs he wore made him look overdressed for these mountain paths. He'd purchased supplies from his own pocket, more than he needed for himself - unless he'd planned on being snowed in for weeks - upon his mule, the animal he called [i]Zapas[/i] which he held by the reins in one hand while leaning against the battle-worn warspear he braced against with his other.

"I would listen to the Sylph." Leofric's voice was a low, deep thing, that seemed at home among the mountains and snow as he seemed to second Síobhra's opinion. "These mountain roads swallow the foolish and hasty first."