Moonspear as dark as the fallen star

An outcropping hid her away for only a moment, but that was all it had taken when she had appeared on high alert. The startle that rippled through her was a cascading wave along his hackles. They smoothed as apologies rolled out, his muteness intact until they trailed off in the stillness; he was relatively nonplussed about their encounter.

"Well I suppose I am a bit of a scare in this droll scenery," he commented with a tilt of his head. She smelled of Rannoch, but also damp. Everything smelled damp in that snow though. "Can't fault you for being jumpy with all going on now can I." There was an appraising tone to his voice that mimicked his wandering gaze—had he seen her about? He didn't recall—but nothing nefarious came of it as he cast it back to the way she had come.

"What's become of your fellow Rannoch? I was considering looking him up this morning but I appear to have the good fortune of stumbling across his lady. Liffey, yes?" Her name came back to him through meandering words, though he hoped he hadn't butchered its pronunciation to pieces.