Overture Downs spoken words like moonlight,

a man of little words, it appeared. his steps were precise, a man who held a fragile crown, as if any wrong move, any word said out of place or a paw out of step would send that crown, that ego crashing down. nanuralaaq, she returned, jaw slightly upturned as if matching this dark mans energy. he reminded him, vaguely, of someone she knew. 'a place like this'? what is wrong with it? came a questioning tone.

perhaps it is my arctic coat that gives you that impression, snowwoman said, then, head tilted and tone almost teasing, though hardly teasing enough that she may seem nothing but. instead, she watched him with curiosity, like a predator assessing the wit of its prey, or prey assessing the drive of its predator. you look quite out of place, yourself, she surveyed his dark pelt, now. from where do you hail, blackfell?