Totoka River i'm on my tip toes

"Exactly," she nodded, smooth tail flicking at her rear and dusting off a light layer of snow that had fallen to lace over her pelt. The sylph’s shoulders rolled lightly in a shrug to his enquiry: "it usually takes around six hours for the tide to go out again, but with the storm unfortunately I don’t know. Even if the tide went out and it looked safe enough to cross, the water is very violent during storms," came her response, vision darkening as the images of her first sea storm flooded in front of her eyes with a bitter slap of imagined spray - storms were deadly, and she had no intention of getting dragged into the depths once more.

For a moment they watched each other, blue gazes meeting; similar, but different. The silence ended almost as soon as it had been conjured - the tundrian began to give details on his desired pack, and her silvery ears still cupped forward intently to listen. Even when he finished, Faeryn left a moment of quietude for the description to soak into her mind, but found herself agreeing with his words, nodding to his statements. At last her lips parted: "What tongue is it you speak?" came her first question, a single ivory brow raising with curiousity; she’d had scarce encounters with those who could communicate in other languages, but it intrigued her greatly.

Then she moved on to the other things he had spoken of, humming to herself quietly in thought. "I do like the sound of it, actually. It doesn’t make much sense to have a pack with no voice for itself - i’ve seen plenty of those." The Renoda thought it bold of him, but appreciated such a characteristic - he was not afraid to lose his own rank for the good of the pack, and he intended to listen to the ideas of those he led. It was a wonderful trait to claim, and she took note of it silently.

"Are you a warrior, then?"