Whitebark Stream even salt looks like sugar

The cold greeting shivered on the breeze, lightly ruffling the soft hairs of the ghost's ear - she inclined her head slowly, gaze flickering like a candle toward the stranger. His fur was a dusty charcoal, distinctly opposite of hers but without the midnight of Cry's. She eyed him without a word, lips parting slightly to drink in his scent from afar, but speak she did not. Not until the wind caressed her fur again, tickling up her spine with the wariness that danced in her stare as she watched him with mild suspicion - you never knew who you could trust in this world.

"Hello." She returned, voice twinged with natural softness - though she scarcely conversed, the way words fell from her tongue were distinctly delicate despite any anxieties. She took note of his posture but made no move to challenge him, remaining as still and fragile as glass; to the stars she looked again, moon's light pooling onto her face and illuminating each feature with grace. "You are... viajero de la noche? Do you often travel in the dark?"