Arrow Lake Turning Stones

In her time among short tempers and the wild will of the young, a valuable practiced had been learned by the wanderer. While patience was her forfeit, tolerance was how she breathed; inhaling the quips and eager taunts of those bearing ill, then exhaling a breath of calm. If not to soothe them, then herself. Smiling softly, she female let her muzzle tilt to the side exposing a worn cheek to the bitter cold as it drifted quietly passed. "I would not dream of it..." her tongue flickered from its cage to roam the width of her nose. "What sense is there to have use both cross the river?" Her should twitched idly against the wind. "These days are short to bring them a close that much sooner..."