While Wrench has mostly settled into a new way of life in the months since his arrival, the man has not as quickly adopted anything that might fairly be considered a home.

He's no stranger to winters spent among the elements, and past experience has left him with a healthy respect for the whims of nature he knows he can no better predict than control. As November creeps in, Wrench can be found preparing himself for the following months with all the urgency of someone who knows better than to rely on anyone else for his own wellbeing.

That means hunting and fishing for what meat he can fell with his miniature tomahawk, or whatever weaponry he's been able to whittle, borrow, or liberate. Wrench has also taken to foraging and trading the flora and fauna native and plentiful to Solvunn that might fill a person's belly or season their meals.

Nothing goes to waste. Hides are scraped, soaked, and tanned, pelts are skinned and stretched, and blood is collected in containers for an unspoken use all its own. If there's something he has that you want, Wrench is open to offers. Trade him for clothing, supplies, or teach him some magic.

Should paths cross, one might find Wrench making infrequent but surreptitious trips to the Offering Grove, around a bowl that managed to survive the damage caused by the Darkhounds. While he may appear to both arrive and leave empty-handed, after his departure the once-empty bowl might be seen bearing bits of animal entrails, macerated bone, and blood.

Or maybe he's nowhere near the shrines at all. Perhaps he's in the middle of a gathering -- a feast or a dinner or a collaborative build -- when all of a sudden Wrench stops and seems to pay his whole focus to someone in the crowd. The object of his attentions may appear innocuous enough, but something about the way the tall man stares at them makes it seem like he can't make heads or tails of whatever it is they're doing at the moment.