Lost Creek Hollow eyes like frozen planets

She was oblivious. The scent of wolf was akin to warmth, and to the child the world was only cold. The ground was hard, the air bit at her throat when she tasted it, the sky wept ice; and the water, although fast in pace, stung to touch.

Iris drank quick laps of it. A tendril of water dripped from her chin when she paused, hearing something — then seeing the silver woman; a gray man nearby to her — her tail curled promptly to her belly.

Hi, she squeaks.

It doesn't occur to her to be nervous, or to ask about the water. It was here, and she was thirsty.