By far the greatest gift Talos offered the dying Nord was the lack of feeling in his arms. While Andrel knew the wolves were already gnawing on his flesh, he did not open his eyes, choosing instead to let the beasts have their fill. Perhaps the taste of his cowardly flesh would be enough to fend them off? No, they were but mere animals, the cared not for whom the flesh came from, simply that there was flesh to feast upon. Perhaps it was the blood loss, or maybe the sweet call of Sovngarde, but sleep washed over him rather quickly. Hard to believe when wolves feasted on your freezing body, but one learns not to fear when you’ve no chance of a heroic afterlife. Why live on in pain when you can at leave all feeling behind? What would any sane person choose in that situation? So, sleep took him and that seemed to be the end of it all. No golden halls greeted him, no, only darkness. Yet it was a fleeting darkness, as soon consciousness came back to him. Feeling returned to his stiff and cold body slowly, only certain limbs were capable of any sort of touch. But that didn’t matter at the moment, as the liquid being poured into his mouth was apparent, as he couldn’t breathe, yet still he did allow himself to swallow it. Perhaps he had been allowed into Sovngarde and the first thing you should rightfully do is drink! Yet it was unfortunately far from that.<br/><br/>Andrel shot up, coughing all the while. A bit of the liquid came out of his mouth, and soon followed the pain of the many wounds that littered his body. Quickly, he fell back to the ground in pain, though he was able to get a look at his surroundings. In his lap lay the head of what he considered to be a wolf. It didn’t seem to want to harm him, if it did the Nord would be dead long before then. Aside from the white wolf, there was of course the mysterious figure that had apparently saved him from an entire pack of wolves. He’d say it was quite a feat if not for how well equipped the stranger was. Ebony armor with furs and perhaps one of the most beautiful bow’s he’d ever seen. Yet he didn’t admire for long, as he could still very well be in danger. Perhaps this was some necromancer preparing a ritual? Difficult to say considering a necromancer would much prefer a corpse to a living being. So, why would they go through so much trouble to save one man? And at such risk to themselves?<br/><br/>“Who...” there was a slight pause as the Nord sat up, his hand resting gently atop the wolf’s head as to not worry him to much. “Who are you? And why did you aid me?” It was a rather idiotic question to ask, as it was apparent he’d probably receive the answer of “It was the proper thing to do.” Of course, this would be enough for the Stormcloak. After all, the stranger did have a mask over their face. After a bit of guess work, Andrel believed the stranger was indeed female, though the race was still little difficult to make out. Though there was that sick feeling in his stomach that this woman was simply  Thalmor spy, she only saved him to have him tortured later, a sick twist of fate. But perhaps he was overreacting. As a Nord, he owed this woman gratitude and so much more. Essentially, he needed to even the score with her. “Whoever you are, you have my thanks. I didn’t think I was going to make it out of this alive. I am Andrel of clan Haaking, and I am indebted to you.”