Otter Creek get ready to roll

She stood picturesque and still. A ghostly silhouette against a plush field of green and gold. When her answer broke the silence, the tone was gravely and poignant. The tone cut like a knife, leaving no room for folly or exploitation. In a sense, the wolf rather appreciated the succinct response. Too easy, at times, was it to manipulate and puppet his company. 

"Yes, of course," he answered simply, inhaling suddenly as though the admittance of newness somehow resonated with his failure to catch a scaled creature from the shallows. Fishing had never been the male's forte. "You're not, though." Perhaps ballsy. Perhaps the wolf should have just kept such tidbits to himself, but the tone he adhered to was not playful and coy. It was simply just a matter-of-fact observance. 

As if to punctuate his speech, eyes loomed up against the sparse trees dotting the scenery to the Spire cutting the skyline. Maybe the jut of stone and earth did not belong to the pale visitor but it seemed oddly fitting should it hold the female's icy secrets.