"Hunh." He scratches his beard. "Oh, that." He does it again. "Oh, a prayer to the Lord of Trade. That our meeting will be good for both of us."
Its mixed, predominantly evergreen.
His cabin is about seven hundred square feet, of roughly squared logs, with an earthen floor. A couple other guys are already there.
Over the next hour, everyone arrives.
They are Brion, Carl, Daniel, Ephraim, Frank, and Allan. All of them are hunters, although some fish, or lumberjack, or mill, in the off season. All come from High Wood. They're glad to see you, if only to have something new to talk about.
The food is cooked by Allan, over the campfire. He's the best cook so everyone gives him a little of their catch so he will cook for them when he's not trapping.
There's no shortage of food. Guts and the less desirable parts are fed to the watch/bearhounds who decide they like you after a worrisome thirty seconds as you contemplate the sort of jaw and teeth structure that would make a brown bear think twice of taking on a dog....at very close range you can see down Tinker's throat. And Mack is behind you at the time. But they decide you're okay.
Ethnically, they seem Northern European, except they all have epicanthic folds, and several have purple eyes.
As the sun sets, the moons, one white and half the size of ours, one green and a hundred times ours in size, rise, one after the other.
