Arrow Lake henneth annûn

yes yes yes!!!

The shift in the air arrived before the sound did, a smudge of woodsmoke and heavy fur upon a clean, frozen page. Aerith did not startle; to react with haste was to concede control to the unknown, and she was a creature of ancient, rigid rhythms.
She took his measure with a clinical, detached gaze, her amber eyes peering at him as if he were a weathered ruin she was attempting to decipher. He was heavy, broad, and carried the unwashed scent of a world that did not know its own name, a beastly intrusion upon her fragile, frost-crafted stillness. He was a specimen of raw instinct, a stark contrast to the distilled, ancestral order she carried in her marrow.
The helçariel remained seated upon the frozen sand, refusing to stand. To rise would be to acknowledge his mass as a threat, and Aerith chose instead to treat him as a curious footnote in a nameless land. Her spine remained perfectly straight, a silver pillar against the iron-grey sky.
„So I am discovering,” she replied, her voice a cool, melodic chime that seemed to sharpen the winter air. „Tell me, mornothol of the heavy tread, does this wilderness have a name that was not given to it by the hungry?”