Moonspear onwards to the edge

Distant from the task of finding the cave, Jaguara was quiet for a moment deciding judiciously what she would respond with. She’d carried the lesson that with certain words it was better to be careful, and that saying too much could leave her vulnerable. The she-wolf was resolute about not leaving weak spots, for reasons she’d cared not to think on too thoroughly.

Passing it off as if she’d been focused on climbing over a particularly damp ledge of stone, she opened her maw to speak  casually, “I was raised in a swamp; I lived in night fog.” The romantic, tucked far away from her out being could appreciate the hushed nature of such an event. The mystery involved in navigating such terrain, the edge of adventure and danger that could quicken the heartbeat with a misplaced sound in the smoky distance. Nostalgia had a way of making mundane things glitter. She didn't dwell on it longer than was necessary. 

“I’ve been here for seven moons—nights.” Lapsing back into old habits briefly, but assuring herself that the slip was harmless, as was the information. If anything she’d cleared any intentions he might have been assuming about her, because in ignorance there was pinch of innocence. “But I came to this mountain about a day ago.” Not enough time to become an expert in the area, but the scent markers she'd left while exploring did help her navigate smoothly. Pausing to sniff, she turned the corner.