Moonspear you're in the wrong place

a voice calls out to him through the din of nature noises and wintersbane, habitually, ceases his steps to a stop; head turning in her direction. glacial gaze sweeps over her once in quick assessment as the ebony and ash pelaged woman approaches. he does not recognize her but she is clearly a moonspearian too. no, wintersbane murmurs; slightly amused. the tundrian draws in a breath. i don't believe we have. he agrees with amicable twitch of his lips.

i'm wintersbane. he offers with a gentlemanly tip of his head.