pure sweet violent hearts

"Not a fish," she corrected as she stepped around him, seemingly eager to have his attention again (but Riordan couldn't fathom why); when she remarked that she wasn't a ghost either, he let out a strained breath that he was unaware of holding. A sense of relief flooded him then, but was swiftly contained when he realized how bizarre he must have sounded.

"And clearly you're na' some kind o'ghost-fish, aye," The smile returned, but in a weakened capacity. "Well if this inn't your lake," he went on, prompted by her final comment, yet the man gave pause and cleared his throat - as if that would chill his nerves and remove his accent - "then I wonder if you have a home at all." She only smelled of lake water; there wasn't much else aside from grass, faint pine from perhaps strolling through a forest, and a bit of foreign perfume upon her.

He turned further towards her with his rounded snout, his nose wiggling as he tried to casually sniff at her - but then he drew back, chuckling softly at himself. Rio wasn't a suave guy, he had no way with the ladies, but he had never been this awkward before; it must have been because of his time away from other wolves. He could recognize a fellow stray when he found them, at least. "You been wanderin' long?"