Ira watched It paddle closer to the bank before it rose - exposing the initial shallowness of the water; that he had misconceived as deep given how she had nearly been submerged within in. It turned out to be a she, he noted with a distasteful idleness, as he watched her spring agilely onto the shore not too far from him. The Princeling’s eyes did not once waver from her darkened form - a stark opposite to his own coloration. Ira’s initial emotionless expression twisted into one of dubiousness as she contradicted his assumption that the water was warm simply because he did doubt her. A soft scowl tugged faintly at the edges of Ira’s lips as his eyes, fleetingly, left her to glimpse at the waters she had emerged from confirming that he did not see steam that would suggest that it was warm, before they fell firmly back upon her. Repugnance colored Ira’s expression as lips parted to let out a protesting “Hey!” when she shook her coat free of the water, as the water slung in his direction. Temper seething dangerously beneath his skin, he contemplated pushing her into the creek (though he wasn’t sure if he could have accomplished it, nor if she would have gone willingly) but soothed those thoughts as he settled discontented for an audacious glare and a smooth recoil of his body away from the proximity of hers.
“Feels fucking cold to me,” Ira grumbled under his breath, repeating every bad word he’d ever heard. Again, Jinx did not chide him for his uncouthness and so this meant it was acceptable - no matter what anyone else told him. She excitedly went on to babble in a rapid tone that had Ira cringing slightly (he was not used to being around other puppies his age, or rather girls his age) when she spoke of Fox being attacked by a mountain lion. Ira’s expression darkened, however, and though he wanted to inquire about their leaders’ well being (for he kind of liked Fox) he resisted, giving a nonchalant shrug. “No, but I was busy.” Which was not a lie. He’d been busy working on his talismans, painting the bones he’d collected with blood, but of course he was not going to express that to her. “Scrappy?” Ira repeated as the word, though a few moments behind finally caught his attention. A soft snort of amusement slipped from pompous lips as he shook his head slightly at her. He wouldn't exactly call Swiftcurrent Creek scrappy (and as a future King he wouldn't want his pack to be called scrappy either) but he wouldn't rock her boat, he supposed. At least, not at this moment. Switching gears, “Where are you from?" came from his lips demandingly in the next moment, because he didn’t recall ever seeing her before - not even at the meeting.