Whitefish River The Great Thorn

As the female volunteered more of her situation, the wanderer pondered if this exchange was a part of a proper conversation. A light back and forth without too dry or short of a reply for either's taste. A calm setting that did not call for the air of superiority, or the eerie composure that came with eloquent tongue. It was almost...enjoyable. "They are not well," she confessed, though on her worn muzzle was a smile. The bitter truth no longer burdened her mind. However resilient her conviction, the truth was inescapable. "Each day without food is another towards death... and every day the air is colder, stealing life from what prey would remain." The female's lips turned, daring to let her smile broaden slightly. "You have picked a terrible time to wander off. Perhaps you would like help finding your way home...?"