Dawnlark Plains isbjørn

aditya let out an amused snort at grayday's response. "'nice' isn't quite the word i'd use," he responded lightly. "other than the cold, i'm fine. i feel better than i have in a while." he peered curiously at the leader, assessing him a brief moment. he looked fine himself, besides, you know, the whole "missing an eye" thing.

"how are you? how was the visit to the pack on the cliffs?" he hoped that it had gone much better than his own most recent try at ambassadorship. he smiled at the thought of easy extending a metaphorical olive branch, knowing the girl had more of a mouth on her than sorrel ever would.