There's a stir under his skin, a tug somewhere in his chest, at the easy way Thorfinn decided if there is White Oak here, they'll just rid of it themselves. Dammit. He wasn't supposed to care, to get attached, to do any of this all over again. Well, fine. The two of them, here, in this house. He'll allow himself that, he supposes. "Hopefully it won't be a problem at all."

That question has him snapping his head up to look at Thorfinn, gaze fierce, serious. "I've been doing that. With the animals I've caught. But we're in such short supply as it is... it's risky in itself." He doesn't want to think what he could mean by 'other ways', because no way in hell would he ever get away with that, especially not under the nose of a hunter.