Whitefish River It doesn't matter what you mean. It's what you do.

Belharra's ears pricked as she heard the assured tread of a wolf approaching. Turning around, she saw a beast of impressive height, dusted over in silvery threads of grey and white -- with a commanding saddle of black that doused his face in matching ombre. She got the impression immediately, this was a wolf of valuable stock. A wolf that would have been coveted on the Islands.

He strode towards a stick and mimicked her, lugging the thing across the ice. It clattered and sunk immediately, with the sucking crunch of ice being pulled underwater. Belharra observed it wrly. "Not just cruel. Hungry." She supposed nature was cruel in that way. "I have experience seeing ice trick others. I myself, have little experience with it - and I'll keep it that way, thankee. Name's Belharra." She turned to him in the wolven form of a hearty handshake - her eyes minted with companionable warmth.