"Lucky you." The hurt returns to his eyes and he casts his gaze downward, but says nothing. He mourns what she should have been, not who she was. Winterfell was a great mother, just not to him. Unlike her own father who loved only his sons, she loved only her daughters. She was a warrior queen who had no love for her son, no matter how strong he could have been beneath her tutelage.
He pushes away the pain, a playful grin crossing his whiskered lips, "Too? I thought you didn't live here." He lifted his head, turning his attention back to Vex. The girl whose name he still didn't know. "I do like it here," he nodded, looking back at the falls. It was peaceful and serene, and quiet in a way the meadow was loud. Too many horses. Too many voices. It was especially lonely when the voices were never directed at you.
This choice means nothing to him, at least not that he knows. Kratos' decision to not be a wolf meant everything. Hound was a wolf. Winterfell was a wolf. Even the Wolf King was a wolf. They all had their beasts, starting with Hound. He was cursed, and so was his lineage. Each of them had their own monsters, their own darkness that seeped into their hearts. He wouldn't be Hound, or Winterfell, or Rougaru. "You've definitely never seen a wolf if you think I smelled bad," he laughed.
Kratos would be a fish.