Barrow Fields lift me up, you take me higher

A coastal wolf. Hydra remembered Rosalyn's warning, and kept it in mind. This other could behave nice, but she knew better than to immediately trust what she saw. On the other hand, she also was conscious she ought not to trust everything she heard, either. Hydra determined she would figure it out, but it was always best to be on the side of caution. His smile, though, was disarming—he was handsome, a veritable Johnny Depp in his prime—and her opinion of him rose. It paid to be handsome. While he took the time to survey the surroundings, Hydra used the opportunity to give him a thorough once over. Her eyes settled on his hindquarters (good gracious, ass bodacious) before returning to his face as he looked back to her. They then followed the way he gestured, and as he continued to speak she studied the landscape from afar. The flatlands offered her nothing by way of what his territory offered, and so her attention fell back to him once again.

With a pretty little smile of her own (she elected to wait a while until she brought out the big guns), the Ostrega responded, no, never—not until now. I am from the mountains, she explained. What is your favorite part of living on the coast? She asked, interested—she saw the appeal in a vacation, but... well, living here? She wondered how her father had done it. Hydra wondered if she ever could.