Moonspear onwards to the edge

She heard him before he spoke, but only smelled him through the ill weather only after formally announcing his presence. Rogue. Peeling open a cerulean eye, Jaguara unconcernedly rolled herself from her back to her side to gaze at him. A rain battered mess of spices, her other eye opening only to reflect the gold of his gaze. His expression didn’t give much away but by his tone she could only assume he was quite anxious about the weather. Jaguara was unambiguous in the same way, but her own energy did not echo any notable concern.

“Wrong.” She corrected, ignoring his first inquiry for the moment and being just as brisk about stapling her answer, “The storm will clear out. Fog after… but we’re too high to be caught in it.” She stated without a hint of hesitance, as if it was as true as fact. What she didn’t care to mention about it was how’d she come to much a conclusion. Since she’d yet to unlock the potential to see into the future, the she-wolf had been taught to be as adapt at reading the weather as much as she was about connecting the stars.  The clues stitched up together, with the slight drop in temperature, the wind fizzling into no more than a breeze, and the clouds dissolving into tired wisps the storm couldn’t possibly turn at this point—it would die out.

“These last few minutes of rain won’t bother me.” As for what it did for him, she assumed he’d be clear about that without her having to inquire. She was still attempting to read him, feel out his character, pulling together a profile with only so much as a few seconds of interaction to go by. It would determine how hot and cold Jaguara would be, for now she remained neutral watching him with only the slightest lift to her expression, open to his next move.