Big Salmon Lake that never goes out

The southern belle would nod as the girl spoke, tail flicking attentively. Canada, she said, and Georgia's lips formed the shape of an 'o': I heard'a that place, she confirmed. Cold, isn't it? The peach felt that the golden girls' pelt wasn't quite suited to the snow, but how was she to know? Not like she knew her all that well.

Pleasure ta meet ya, Waawaakeshi. Ma name's Georgia. 'Ah' sounds pronounced more like 'eh', a result of her childhood rather than evidence of mishearing. She watched as those honeydew's surveyed her, and rather than hiding from a perceptive gaze, she took pride in her figure, stretching out in a manner similar to that of a lioness.

She spoke again, tilting her head this time. 'N how's life treatin' ya, Waawaakeshi? Doin' good? A nod of her head with gentle eyes. Hoping that she said yes, partially to avoid comforting the stranger, but mostly a representation of not wishing hardship upon such a young woman.