Black Morass frostbite

unlike most of wolfkind in the teekons, delight's never had to learn to be suspicious. tindómë's relative isolation has kept them from much of the interpack drama plaguing the rest of the lands, and even if he did know cicero's history, well, he probably wouldn't care much beyond it being a pretty neat story.

what the hell is up with that kid though

the morwinyon stares for a beat before schooling his expression back into it's usual disinterested moue and nods, pointing with his nose in the direction he thinks tindómë probably is. "not here-here," he explains, "there's a forest west of here. my pack. how long have you been traveling?" now that he's not distracted by the weird little mutant child, the pair of them do look to be in rough shape, and delight's seen some wolves in rough shape. he frowns -- surely they hadn't been out in the middle of the blizzard that just came by? well, maybe he can talk them into coming back with him and resting. or at least getting out of this mud, blech.