Dawnlark Plains From the scars on my arms

She only stared as she spoke strange words Calfuray did not understand and told stories that she did not care to listen to. The snow stung, the cold momentarily discomforting, but it did help some.

The woman asked how she felt, and Cal could only grunt at first. Wet. I feel wet. Everything was wet in the winter. You talk a lot, you know? She looked to her with a raised eyebrow. Maybe she ought to be more grateful, all things considered.

Once more she took in the scents of the surrounding area. Did you come from a pack around here? She asked. It was better to get a sense of such a thing now rather than later.