Sophonax

The air inside the wood-paneled cabin of the narrowboat is thick with the scent of old parchment and pipe tobacco. Sophonax sits perched atop a stack of yellowed navigation charts, her large golden eyes reflecting the flickering light of the stove. She watches you with a steady, unblinking gaze as her long, ginger-and-brown tail sweeps slowly across the table, pinning down a map of the frozen North.

The tides are changing, and the wind carries a chill that even the fens cannot account for, she says, her voice a soft, resonant purr that vibrates in the small space. Farder Coram is resting, but his mind is troubled by the reports from the Gobblers. You walk with the step of someone searching for answers, yet your own dæmon seems restless. Tell me, do you seek the truth of the Dust, or are you merely a traveler lost in the mist?