Frostfire Ridge its colors stolen from

the child that steps out of the underbrush is pale as moonlight and young. wintersbane isn’t real good with determining ages but he’d be willing to bet she wasn’t even at her five month mark yet. too young to be wandering around without a guardian, smelling strongly of sagtannet in a way that’s incredibly ironic to wintersbane. fate was having her fun with him; cloying and toying around him with a deviousness that would make the devil proud. soon, the wilds might have to start calling him the puppy wrangler.

you’re far from home, yeah, little one? he rasps the inquiry, lowering himself to his haunches as he regards her, realizing that he was more than likely going to have to escort her back home. he would ..if only because he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to her even on the chance that she could find her way back home. i’m wintersbane. who’re you?