Lone Star Mountain She says that it's "a rat race, dog eat dog. Everyone's another cog."
Ghost in the woods
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There is something calculating in the mismatched gaze that sweeps over her, as if the man is weighing or judging the assemblage of parts before him. A flush spreads over the healer's cheeks - hot beneath her ivory fur - as her eyes dart away, chagrined as she wonders silently if he has been left wanting by his appraisal. 

Her cocoa orbs are drawn towards him once more as the words strike her pricked auds, curiosity glimmering there beneath the carefully constructed mask. 

There are no gods in the bleak winterlands, only tales told in hushed tones of warning against stone walls as blizzards beat outside - stories of old lore passed on to shivering pups to ensure survival. There are only the spirits who watch and dictate from the nightlands, the inevitable journey beyond the horizons where no wolf can go. 

"There are no gods in my homelands, " Liri murmured softly, scuffing a paw lightly in the loose soil at her feet. "No kings."

"Only the shift of life and time."

"Would you tell me about your gods?" 
The fae asked after a moment, turning to face him in her excitement - forgetting for a moment that it might be taboo in his culture to impart such knowledge upon an outsider. Suddenly, such a notion seemed to occur to her. The northron's head ducked a tad, a wry grin crossing her features sheepishly. "If it is...permitted, " she searched for the right word, "for you to teach strangers that is?"

"I'm Liri," she introduced herself after a moment, realizing it had slipped her mind until that moment. "Liri Blackfoot."
"i'll keep you here when I lose my mind."