Sea Lion Shores she's the first in line at the party

evidently, not in the right places. "do you belong to one of them?" brine and wind obscurred his scent for the most part, but he lacked the ragged edges, travelworn pelt that would mark him as a longer. rather, he is the epitome of something wild, confident in his looming form. there is something alluring in the strangeness of him. "further inland - Lost Creek Hollow. a day or two's travel." ears pricked, turn slightly toward him as she waits for his voice in turn. the morningsider - for she will always be such - is reminded of dozens of trips made as an ambassador to her pack, the desire to know who and what hunts these lands alongside her own, and her intrest is piqued.