Gilded Bay your bones are the spires of Stockholm

The front half of her soaked in seawater, something Wynonna did not mind—if she had fins and gills, she'd never leave the water—but the voice is enough to make her aware of how she looks. Half rat, half wolf, maybe, the pools at her feet do not offer much in the way of reflection. She smiles anyway and offers a few shakes of her own, green eyes focusing on her newest companion. Friendly enough to not warrant immediate defenses, but her guard doesn't wane even with the gentlest of gestures.

Slim and travel-weary, she takes a few steps to firmer ground. Pebble and sand beneath her feet doesn't quite offer it, but her toes don't splay in the wet sand. "A bit, but I've cleared this area," she offers, in case he came for a bite. A pool somewhere along the land might offer more, she might eat more, but her concern was her gritty and ill-quenched rogue. "Do you know where fresh water is nearby?"