"The Gods see fit to continue tormenting me," Tyrion lamented to himself. He did not notice Nymeria at first. Not that he would have entirely cared either. He raised his paw out of the water lazily, his mismatched eyes examining what now showed itself to be only a small nick. "Wine would be better," the dwarfish brute reiterated to himself. That was when he heard a voice. Perhaps he had died and was being rewarded for enduring so many ills in his life. He raised his head momentarily before groaning and rolling to his belly.

"Poppy is fine for grievous wounds," the small wolf said as he rose to all fours to turn and face the stranger who had approached, "But wine helps ease the soul." Tyrion never imagined someone not knowing what wine was, but then again, the blond male was in a new place. "It's made from fermented grapes, drink it much like water. You do know what grapes are, don't you?"

He raised a brow as his black and green gaze finally focused on Nymeria. "Well aren't you a pretty sight," the golden coated wolf said with a smile, albeit a bit of a dry one. His tail waved ever so slightly. Perhaps a bit young for his tastes, but pretty all the same. He tilted his head slightly. Tyrion certainly was no looker with his scarred face and a portion of his nose missing, not to mention he was about as small as they came for stature. The Gods were likely laughing, plotting their next torment even now as he stood there.