"The dog are the merchant's," a passing man notes. He's a sturdy looking one with blackened hands and burly muscles. When you mention the girl, his expression turns carefully neutral.<br/><br/>"She's Jormund's daughter; our village chief. I'd start there." A derisive snort escapes from him before he can stop it. "She's a hotheaded one. Doubt she'd want to be found again."