Ghost Lion Crag And the rain

The female retreated with each step that he took toward her. She remained wary of him, watching with a keen expression. The pale brute slowed his pace, watching her with a calculating expression. He wasn't sure that this would result in anything other than the she-wolf taking off, resulting in a chase. Smokestep was not entirely sure he wanted to race through the snow after some stranger. Still, he was good at pushing buttons and he made an effort to see just how close he could get before he stopped.

Perhaps she was more interested in being helpful, he thought. Flattening his ears to his crown, the marauder lowered his head a few inches and lifted a single paw into the air. He held his position, appearing as safe as he possibly could. The ghost's eyes danced with the light of a trickster and thief. He knew defensive maneuvers when he saw them. Still, he tried his best to appear less threatening; he hoped this would allow her to open up.

“Aye forgive me, lass... do ye know how one might get to the sea?” he inquired with a toothy expression. “Me sister and I have been searchin' for days.” It wasn't a lie, but the brute knew well enough how to return to the ocean. He was born and bred from it. The swell and sea foam were as much a part of him as the coarse white fur along his back. Though this she-wolf was appearing to make herself busy, Smokestep was intent to press the issue.