Larksong Grotto Know not where I'm at, but know where I've been

As the other female responded with a gentle wag of her own tail, Durnehviir let her muscles slacken. Although confident that they were of no threat to one another, the tawny beauty managed a delicate smile for her raven-pelted companion, who repeated her name. Durnehviir. It was odd to be named for a frost-breathing dragon of her grandmother's lore, considering she herself was kissed by fire.

It was a name that many often found difficult to pronounce, and she'd never gained a nickname from it. This never bothered her, however - each name was unique, and she loved that hers linked back to her mother's heritage. After all, Durnehviir knew literally nothing of her biological father and hadn't cared much to find out. 

I'm alive, the wolfess answered, and the warmth drained from Durnehviir's features. She blinked at the other female, immediately wondering of her background and what caused her to wind up alone in the grotto, simply alive. In a way she understood, the tawny Frostfur supposed, for more recently she too had faced moments when she'd felt as though she'd done nothing but survive. "Do not apologise," Durnehviir insisted softly, canting her head as she regarded the other girl curiously. "This is not my home. Where are you from?"