Qeya River here come the church mice trying too hard

She raised a brow, expecting the term "viking" to be more of a familiar word to the she-wolf. She had heard it in use before, though loosely at that. "A viking is..." Sasha had to stop herself from stuttering, since she wasn't quite sure how to describe it herself. "It is someone who is from the north." She skipped out on mentioning their brutal tendencies and brash traditions. "That is all I know." Heat pricked underneath her skin. She called herself a viking, but she couldn't really come of with a definition for the term. How embarrassing.

Mojave started speaking again, and Sasha gratefully drank in her words, eager to leave her stumbling mess of an explanation behind. "Oh, it must be very cold then." The mass of ice looked sheer, making Sasha feel insignificant in comparison. "Maybe I will stop by some time," the girl offered a warm smile. The fact that not all packs were grateful for uninvited guests was something she had yet to learn.

Her ears pricked forward again at the she-wolf's query. "All I know is that the Caldera is much hotter. On a volcano...or near it," she explained, pausing a few times in between words. "Getting into the pack was very frightening. I feel I only got in because it was the right time for my skills to be of use." The she-wolf chuckled lightly. "I am no good at fighting. Very bad," Sasha added with a small shrug. Her alpha seemed to be the type that valued fighting over counseling-type skills, but she wasn't one to trust her assumptions.