Cedar Sweep i'll follow the sounds of wings

Her voice seemed hushed on first recall, words echoing in the wake of his prattling that Dirge only took in the gravity of her situation when she had poised queries of her own. Such queries were stilted, attached together only by timing and context and his surprise was imperceptible. Why, every wolf knew how to survive, he wanted to say and press on, going along in such a way that he could segway to more meaningful avenues to serve his own good. But the look or lack thereof that had settled onto her features played at their shared youth, though he was willing to wager she more an adolescent than he ever had been.

"We survive by whatever ways we must," he answered almost a moment too late. He would have betrayed his nonchalance. "For some, that's scavenging. Bones, birds, whatever we can lay teeth to. Others try their luck with the packs, or in this case a pack, which I believe is... somewhere off that way," he went on, then gesturing loosely over his shoulder with his snout to shore up answers. "I haven't laid eyes on them, but their borders are broad enough to smell on a windy day." He didn't intend to either, not unless necessity deemed it. His experience with packs were limited to his natal home, and that was not a memory he cared to relive yet.

His gaze settled on her once again.

"What's your name, little songbird?"