Permafrost Hollows I decided to play when I knew you were fire

She gives Derg every ounce of her attention as he speaks, fluffy ears standing at full height as she takes in his words. It seems a rather fair balance to her, that winter should slow the decomposition of prey; after all, food is more scarce in the cold months, too. At the mention of scavengers, curiosity flashes in her bright blue eyes, but she waits politely to see if Derg has anything else to say. And it seems he does, though the fond look he casts in her direction is awfully distracting for a moment. His first words don't quite register over her own sudden flush of heat and shyness, even as her gaze traces the movement of his mouth. No one outside of her own family has ever taken to her company, perhaps because she hasn't taken to any of them; this sort of companionship is such a foreign feeling, she doesn't quite know what to do with it. She pushes the thoughts aside, managing to tune back in as birdboy is saying something about underground and dens and cougars.
Can you tell me more about scavengers? She asks after a beat, a little glad that she'd already known what she wanted to say. Her time with Derg has so far always been pleasant, but she's starting to feel... a little fatigued, maybe, though the word doesn't seem to fit. It is a strange feeling; not physical, but of the mind. The longer she focuses on not making a fool of herself, the more scattered and sloppy and sluggish her thoughts become. She can't help but be afraid that soon she'll be reduced back to a stuttering mess, as she had been the day they'd met.