Black Morass frostbite

Ramsay stopped in his tracks when Cicero's mismatched eyes met him, but he did his best to crane his short neck and see the strange wolf just beyond his father's shoulders. He leaned forward on the tips of his toes, eyes alight with curiosity, but it was dulled by his hunger, exhaustion and the lingering effects of war. He licked at his lips and nose briefly, then turned in place to peer around them. It was still just swamp. Did this wolf come from here, or from elsewhere, like Argent had? Like Indra?

"Hi," he called out incautiously in a voice that was cold and fettered by his upbringing and his experiences. If there was hope that Ramsay could still be converted into a functional, warm-blooded creature as Indra had hoped, it was fast dwindling. Nonetheless, he retained all of his curiosity about wolves from elsewhere, so he had no issues with greeting Delight, even if there was little emotional value in it these days.