Mudminnow River nobody blames you

He does not know the relevance of her name, but he likes the sound of it. It suits her, he thinks. It flows the way she does with her silent movement. A part of him wonders what she'd be like on the battlefield but he will not goad her in to a fight, not in her current state. There is something off about her and it makes him more curious than nervous.

The man takes a few bold steps and stops nearer to her, looking her over in an obvious manner despite already knowing everything he needs, and notices a familiar scent. Familiar because he has recently departed from the edge of the Hollow and its aroma is fresh in his snout. She's one of the transplants for sure — but she smells different from them too, like earth and mineral and dust.

You're not one of them, he states in a leisurely manner, one of the wolves of the Hollow. You live with them but you haven't for long. Interesting. He knew the scents inherent to mountains (having lived upon one peak or another throughout his life) and thought he could sense a difference between her earth-scent and that of the recently arrived mountaineers; but that begged further inquiry, more questions. Where do you come from, Phoenix?