Totoka River i'm on my tip toes

Faeryn felt a flicker of her confidence return as the offer was accepted, silk ears cupped in his direction to catch the words as they tipped onto the breeze - it was a welcome feeling, and she was grateful for the opportunity to feel useful. Assuming the tundrian would fall into step at her side, the sylph began to stroll down the path as she had been, lithe figure gliding over the frozen earth as a ghost would drift, free from any shackles that bound them to the ground; it was here she slipped back into her normality (at least from the outside) and masked any hesitance that might have plagued her feminine features.

It was a mistake that she had sought to correct, but perhaps it had been too late?

Balance was the focus of the seawolf’s motives - to study the earth and the sky and the water beneath, the fauna and flora. Fighting for Faeryn was not aimless violence, it was a dance of sorts. Rarely did she engage in a poisonous conflict, choosing instead to dabble in the equipoise of the two contrasting interests; fighting and forgiving, drawing strength and courage from the wonders of life, the energy of the earth. If her eyelids fluttered close, she could feel the snow beneath her paws, or the grass, even sand, but also further beneath, and the connection was what inspired the vigour in her veins.

"Yes," She replied, turning to glance at the isolated isle. "I’m from the island," her silvery muzzle inclined toward the island of undersea, gaze following the lap of the waves as they consumed the bridge that had once given her access. Until the ocean’s storm had settled and the path was freed, she would be unable to return. "Where are you from?" The Renoda enquired, focusing her attention back to the young man. Was he a fighter too, perhaps?