Phoenix Maplewood maybe I can drown

he does not understand the word she uses in and of itself but the dip of her muzzle and context of her voice makes him think it was a word of agreement. she falls into step with him and inquires where he was going, adding 'before'; giving the tundrian enough to assume that she meant before he'd came across her licking the tree sap. a small smile plays at the edges of his lips for a moment. i was recruiting, he tells her simply, peeking at her from the corner of his eye as he limps forth, determined not to let it slow him down ( too much ).

i am claiming the glacier, he gestures in it's direction with his muzzle ( because viz is too lazy to look up what direction it is on the map ). looking for wayward souls who might be interested in joining. he informs her, quietly and discreetly gauging her expression for any reaction.

she speaks to him in that language again; tickling his ears in a way that deceptively sounded familiar but was certainly not the tundrian his mother'd taught him. there are similar sounds but not, he thinks, similar enough. it is your native tongue? wintersbane inquires; and offers only after she answers. it sounds similar to my mother's, to the tundrian my ancestors speak. he, too, spoke it but hasn't in quite some time ( since andraste's death, he thinks with a painful draw of cold breath ).