Herbalists' Cache though winter be a brittle beast

"thank ye," she murmured, octaves brushed with opaque strokes of gratitude, "but that's alright. i 'ave some game stored 'ere. ye should eat an' regain yer strength." 

there was no telling how long he'd travelled or what state he might be in. nor could they know when the blizzard might break. they needed to ration what food they did have wisely -- her stomach could be staved off for a time yet. 

"I am called," -- and it was on her tongue to say awenfen, who had died with aliroth -- , "aerin. it is good to meet ye, lovecraft, but I do vish it 'ad been under different circumstances, aye,?" the last is light, a breathy half-laugh accompanying it almost nervously.

"oh, yes," the healer answered, misted gaze falling to her small paws even though she could not make them out. her pawpads throbbed, each pulse sending small waves of pain radiating through her ragged flesh. "i 'ave 'ad vorse." 

"vhy were ye out in ze storm -- if'n ye donnae mind my askin'?" came the next curious inquiry through the pitch between them, soft and neutral as if to imply that she was reluctant to pry.