Bramblepoint when the cold wind is a'calling

Gwyn observed the small exchange with a warm gaze, noting the quiet ease between the two, even as the she-wolf tended to her paw. A lighthearted warmth flickered in her own eyes, and she dipped her head in silent respect for the care he offered his friend. She glanced at her, noting the small dot of red on her paw.

"If it begins to bother you," she added, her voice soft, "a poultice of sage can ease the sting. It grows in small patches not far from here."

As he addressed her again, Gwyn’s gentle smile softened. "Not often, no," she replied, her voice as soft as the early morning mist. "S' pretty, though." Perhaps she would stay for the week, make a home in the abandoned burrow she'd passed on the way here.

At his question, she met his gaze, her amber eyes flickering with quiet warmth. "Gwyn is fine," She inclined her head with a soft, respectful nod toward them both, a peaceful steadiness about her. "And yours?"