We of the North

In interest of following sound advice, I have tried my hand at further diversifying the textures of my shading. Here I have used pen, charcoal, and a simple number two pencil to achieve the appearance (I hope) of fur and feathers. I have before stated my belief that each new picture should be your best one yet. As the creator, I believe this adheres to those criteria. (I listened to "Blue on Black" by Kenny Wayne Shepherd while drawing this. While I'm not sure how well the song relates to the picture itself, it helped me get into the hard-boiled, tough mindset that surrounds Sigrun as a character.)

Sigrun the Scruff walked into Robert's life out of complete obscurity, and even after several years he hadn't seen fit to reveal much more than his name. Robert had no qualms with that: Scruff had been a welcome traveling companion, a much appreciated set of fists in the occasional scrap, and even a source of wisdom. Robert had grown quite fond of the tight-lipped hound. If he chose to keep the roads he'd traveled prior to their meeting to himself, so was his right. So it came as quite a surprise to Robert when on one humid evening, as the two of them watched the last piece of twilight wander away from the world, Scruff, without prompting or quandary, suddenly began to relate a story from his younger years. He leaned against a thick log, eyed shut as he talked to no one in particular. Robert listened intently to his story. It told of a long ago journey, born from a foolish notion, fed with youthful ambition, strengthened by foolish pride, and ultimately diverted from absolute catastrophe by the direct intervention of... her. Robert raised a quizzical eyebrow, but of course, Scruff wasn't really talking to him anyway. His storytelling seemed to be done for now, but Robert had one final question. "Her?" Scruff folded his arms behind his head. Several minutes passed in silence. His reply came in a word, a name. "Serafth."