Whitefish River Winter, wintery, winter

With her lips pursed with curiosity, Cara fixed her gaze to the man's face. He was not typical in any sense of the word. While she wolves of earthen hues she could count were not too many, it wasn't his appereance what she was referring to; unlike the somber wolves she was used to dealing with not only in the Spine but in the neighbouring areas, Fleetscut was a kind hearted man with a sense of humor and a peculiar accent to top it all off.

With his insistent comment of calling him Fleet instead Cara could not help but to quirk her brows in amusement. She didn't want her anything tickled. Where do you come from then?she asked, her ears cupped towards him so that she could decipher his answer from between the riddling accent in which he talked.

Just a passer-by in Winter? she asked echoing the last part of his previous response with a tone of disbelief and a bit of curiosity. Surely, as an older wolf than she he would've known the scarcity and harshness the cold season brought.