Totoka River i'm on my tip toes

A voice brewed of storm clouds interrupted her thoughts, a low chuff to announce his presence - her nose tipped to the side, gaze slinking toward him as the silky ears cupped forward on her crown. His coat was conjured of shadows, but twinged with blue, just as her own was; a silvery mane rested over his nape and crossed his throat, like a lion of the night -- his eyes mirrored her own (but sharper). Faeryn studied him carefully (it was foolish to let down your guard at the first hello), but allowed her head to tilt with curiousity. 

The only mainland wolves she'd encountered over the past few moons were the judging stares of the Rosings wolves, and those were interactions she favoured to cast behind her.

The sea nymph found herself having to peer up in order to meet his sharp gaze, and it settled like a stone in her stomach; no doubt she was a fighter, a survivor, but it felt almost degrading to be sunk so low -- though her legs were sleek and elegant (and muscles rippled beneath), she was far shorter than the tundrian, and his bulking form towered above her own. A soft breath slithered from black lips, creating a cloud of frost in the polar air. "Hello," came the mellifluous tune, delicate but sure despite her thoughts.