Whitefish River let the only sound be the overflow

the sound of her name on a stranger's lips has her blink, but she's too tired to display any shock besides that. and despite the distaste of it, she reaches into the murky pond that is her memory and draws out a name. it is a long moment in coming, but - "Ira." a dead woman, a hunting partner. blood and grief. she's done a fantastic job of picking a pack she has no connections too, but considering how long she's been in the wilds, she must have known that would be impossible. 

"I want to join you." she offers, voice hoarse. it grates against the back of her throat, burns, but is necessary.