Blackfoot Forest all gods dispense suffering without reason

she is pretty he realizes perhaps shallowly — scars and all — and this is slightly alarming to him because he hasn't really thought of anyone pretty aside from relmyna. the pale stranger speaks a word in a tongue he does not know but it sounds close enough to a greeting for wintersbane to comfortably assume that is a greeting of some sort. the language is unknown aside from the fact that he knows it is not tundrian and whatever language his coywolf father named them and the ranks of teaghlaigh in.

a lift of the dark brother's chin follows the slight advancement of her body. she does not close much of the distance between them ...only enough for them to not have to shout words at one another. he appreciates this just as much as he appreciates the comfortable distance left between them. her voice is lilting and accented and ...pleasant. i know these woods well enough, he concurs, voice a low and deep rasp like whiskey steeped in smoke. though they do look moderately different basking in the light of the early morning than they do in the greedy shadows and moonbeam glow of night they are the same woods and he should be able to find his way all the same.

there are only few conclusions he can draw while being presented with that question and thus he assumes she is lost. wintersbane almost asked her if she wanted a guide ( under the assumption that she was, indeed, lost ) but quells the question before it can fall from betwixt his lips. why? he settles for instead, figuring she would present the reason for her question better if he didn't assume because it occurs to the tundrian in the last moment that he could be wrong in his assumption.