Hoshor Plains [m] the tortured poets department

For only a moment, his gaze trailed from her to the direction she noted, familiar with the valley over the mountains only with the knowledge of their existence—his own place of birth having been the arrow lake.

She invited him to join her, and he swept forward, gaze transfixed once more on the freckles that adorned her dainty features. “Argent,” he offered, and his own silver muzzle pointed up, to the opposite direction of her own. “And I live on that mountain over there. Moonspear.”