Whitefish River And if the night is burning,

Rolling his eyes at her declaration. And yet here I'm to believe it's the miracle sense. Sarcasm dripped in his hushed tones. Other than accidentally crossing borders, his only true curse was the lack of feeling anything at all - because it seemed the sense of smell was just as useful as his hearing and sight for the most part. (or maybe it was because he got around his handicap and is just being a little bitter right now, being able to adapt is quite normal)

At least she picked a side, with that, he slunk to the ground and with careful paws slithered his way around the sound of the goats. Making a wide circle around them... pausing here and there to take a listen, peek around when safe to do so and not get spotted.

He was swift but careful. Caution came naturally at this point with his condition, always watchful of his footing, his surroundings, alert to sounds and sights that might be cause for alarm. Once around the mountainside creatures, that was when he made his move. Taking the small group by surprise with a loud bark to not only startle them and alert them of the presence of a threat, but to let Orlaith know the chase was on.