Whitebark Stream even salt looks like sugar

Countless thoughts wrapped around her mind - some laced with the bitter blanket of ice, but some were warm and thawed the cold just enough for her to breathe, chest rising and falling with the slow inhales she took through her nostrils. The ghost was waiting now, and after Cry's departure she had felt terribly lonely, desiring only to fill that gap with the tenderness she'd seen in his eyes, the very care that had swept into her own; she wanted to stand at his side, but she would have to be patient. Good things came with time, and his return had been promised - he would not leave her, would he? No, she was sure. 

Storm had crosssed her thoughts, too - his angry, spewed words that had been cursed her way, they filled the girl with a great misery. Though she did not love him anymore, he hurt and she had seen the pain leaking softly out of his heart, what he had made out to be fault of her own. She knew it was not, deep down, but she could not help the guilt that poured from her vision as she had watched him snapping.

The Tallimat's breath pooled into the air, creating a cloud of mist - she peered up to watch the stars as they twinkled, and wondered dismally what it would be like to truly grasp freedom, to hang in the sky and glitter like one of those, dancing endlessly; becoming weightless, it was so appealing, and yet feel it she could not.

Night saw the silver-ticked outcast slip quietly between the grasses as he made his way along the riverbank, the limp body of a rabbit grasped firmly in his jaws. Blood dripped incessantly down his chin - it was not particularly obvious atop the shadows of his pelt but still Lars felt it. And disliked it. Majorly.

Dropping the warm carcass atop the frozen ground, he picked his way down to the waters edge and submerged his muzzle, opening his maw to drink simultaneously. Once satisfied, he was careful to avoid getting any other part of himself more wet than necessary when he caught sight of a ghostly white figure on the far side of the opposite bank. Whoever it was appeared lost in thought as they gazed up at the sky - and Lars followed suit for a moment. He’d had plenty of lonesome nights to explore the constellations sure, yet he’d never really...noticed them? Always, he had merely been glad of their distant company.

Quarry forgotten for now, the rogue approached the figure carefully, drawing himself up to his full height before coldly calling out a swift “hello?”

The cold greeting shivered on the breeze, lightly ruffling the soft hairs of the ghost's ear - she inclined her head slowly, gaze flickering like a candle toward the stranger. His fur was a dusty charcoal, distinctly opposite of hers but without the midnight of Cry's. She eyed him without a word, lips parting slightly to drink in his scent from afar, but speak she did not. Not until the wind caressed her fur again, tickling up her spine with the wariness that danced in her stare as she watched him with mild suspicion - you never knew who you could trust in this world.

"Hello." She returned, voice twinged with natural softness - though she scarcely conversed, the way words fell from her tongue were distinctly delicate despite any anxieties. She took note of his posture but made no move to challenge him, remaining as still and fragile as glass; to the stars she looked again, moon's light pooling onto her face and illuminating each feature with grace. "You are... viajero de la noche? Do you often travel in the dark?"

Several seconds of delicate silence ticked by as Lars watched her head turn from afar, her expression an unreadable mask as the younger took the chance to study her features. He was certainly aware of his staring, yet the milky white of the moon combined with the paleness of her pelt made it distinctly hard not to look away.

A huff of hot breath escaped his lips as the stranger - she - began to speak, soft but Lars could hear her well nonetheless. The stillness she possessed was strange to him, almost weird as she remained unnervingly calm and unbothered, and yet almost unconsciously his own inked pelt and imposing position began to relax.

“Yes.” Lies. The rabbit had just been there, and so here he was; though the unfamiliar speech made him hesitate a little, and he pricked his ears. “What did you say? I mean, before. I don’t recognise it.”

Indeed she was still - like a china doll, perched on a wooden shelf. Almost so still that she appeared as ghostly as the shadows that hung behind trees in the dark of the night, but her chest rose and fell steadily with gentle exhales of air; she watched him, and he watched her. 

Her eyes danced warily in the moonlight, glistening like the rippling surface of ocean water, glittering like the stars coating the canopy above. He spoke with mild hesitance, but she paid it no mind, for perhaps he was uncertain. The eruna would not blame him for such a thing, could not. She knew all too well how dangerous others could be, how unfamiliar their actions or words could feel, and she knew what could happen if you did not pay enough attention. The corners of her lips twitched slightly at his query, as though on the fringes of tipping into a warm smile - she loved it when others picked up on her mother's tongue, whether they could understand it or not. It made her think of soft memories, where everything seemed right again. "Night traveller, traveller of the night. Those who walk with the moon to guide them. It is Spanish, my mother taught me as a pup."

If only she could see the world with the eyes of a child again.