Phoenix Maplewood maybe I can drown

ooh yeah, i've seen cats with fevercoat and they're so beautiful! it's the perfect way to describe his coat! <3

she explains that it is food and continues on with 'is good', giving wintersbane the impression that common might not be her mother tongue. it sparks curiosity within him, thinking of how it has been so long since he spoke tundrian; hoarding the words of his the nightingale queen's native tongue to him like they were a secret. his glacial gaze rises from the woman to the tree, ghosting forth a step — though careful not to invade her personal space — to inspect the sap. the smell was alluring enough; sweet in a way that bordered sickeningly so.

she introduces herself as 'imaq' and wintersbane pairs it with her face in his mind; noting the softer plains of her face and the flop of her ears that give her away as not full wolf ( and true enough, neither was he ). wintersbane. he offers in return; smoky rasp breaking his silence that in the wake of the moonspear disaster seemed too loud to him. i'm fine. it would not kill him, at least; and wintersbane sure as the sun rose and set wasn't going to let it slow him down.

are you hungry? wintersbane asks her then. i can hunt for you. as if in protest of the offer, a stabbing throb resonates through his leg but he ignores it. he's had worse injuries and survived those ( though not without help, he knew ); he had to recruit, he had a pack to form. he did not have time to lounge about while his leg healed. it would scar, yes; but what was one more scar to the map already on his flesh?