"Raivo," he answered, and took Otto's hand with a firm grip. Not like his handshake meant much after his drunken introduction. This Otto the Younger fellow was no doubt formidable, the type with which Raivo would have used extreme caution in approaching. If sober, Raivo might not have approached at all, despite the wolf scent. A decade in a guild full of thieves and assassins taught him the most important lesson, pick your targets wisely.
When it came to making friends, Raivo had the same policy. Those he could trust included other exiled guild members and bartenders who served him unpoisoned ale. Never had another werewolf come into the equation. This fellow though, Otto the younger, there was something else about him aside from their shared curse that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
"Well if you're the younger," Raivo said clearly, drunken stupor wearing off over the shock of meeting this man. "I'd hate to see the size of the elder."
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