Firestone Hot Springs A pale being of mist and moonlight

"A pleasure it is to have made your acquaintance, miss Dulce," the northron lilted kindly, damp pale crown canting in a vague nod. A silence swelled between them and she sensed that the southerner awaited a title in return to label the healer with. "You may call me whatever you wish; I have no recollection of what my name might have been before," she explained softly in embarassed tones of admission. 

"It's the sulfur," she whispered, almost to herself - a furrow of confusion wrinkled her features into perplexion, dark gaze sweeping the surrounding steppes. 

These very lands had been fodder for the herd her Plateau wolves had fed on, these springs her hunting grounds. They were familiar, her paws found hidden trails as if by muscle memory and her nose knew the cause of the hot springs' stench yet, her amnesia would not let her recall the source of her intuition.