Barrow Fields high octane

Haunt's head actually tilted almost ninety degrees when the stranger called her weird. "Look who's talking," she shot back, oblivious to the pun. "Are you—" Before the word "blind" could roll off her tongue, a realization struck her. Her yellow eyes widened a little, fixing on the other she-wolf's face and attempting to make eye contact to test her theory.

She had never met a blind wolf before, though she knew of it conceptually. The stranger's gaze was pale and unfixed. Did that mean anything? Haunt wasn't sure. She'd seen a wide variety of eye colors. And she had no idea if blind wolves' eyes looked any different than normal.

Asking if she was blind outright seemed rude, sort of like asking Chacal why the hell she sang everything. She didn't know this lady, she might be sensitive about her disability. So Haunt considered a moment before carefully asking, "Can't you see me?" She felt a little foolish as she lifted one forepaw in a little wave.