Emberwood coquilles.

She could not tell why the other wolf looked so sour, but approached all the same, only pausing at a decent distance when their voice came drifting her way. A greeting — a question. Their posture gave Stryx the impression of someone who was quite nervous but there was an innocence to the woman's gaze, a softening quality, which could have been mere youth.

The mountains? I did, some days ago. Stryx explained. Her lethargic expression shifted to one of brief concern, her face pinching in a frown. I roam all over. Do you also come from the mountains? Are you lost, or... In need of help? Her ears twisted forwards to show she was listening intently to the other wolf, and while she studied them she took note of the scents in the air. The stranger's scent was strong but layered; somewhat floral, although Stryx could not place what sort of flower. Grassy, almost.