Firefly Glen It’s a red tide, Lester.

@Nirali

Things in Belharra's life could use some quieting down. For a moment she left her preferred collection of pines and headed south. She had managed a small stockpile of pine sap in case she came across that kid again, but so far, nothing. Her collecting made her hungry, and with very little in the way to eat, Belharra was fairly cranky. 

Tracking game was proving difficult. She raided a few fox or coyote caches and found nothing; old bones chewed long ago with no value to them. There weren't any hares that she could track, and the scent of mice were stale. Depressing. Rather than turn home empty handed Belharra started to snack on the snow. It was a good way to get her mind off of things, and temporarily numbed the complaints of her stomach.

Nirali is on the hunt, too, though her own purpose differs slightly from the stranger's. She has scented the wolves that frequent this area, the myriad scents of strangers healthy and ailing alike. She has even started to recognize the shared scents of a pack.
So, naturally, that must mean there will be someone to steal from around here. Unfortunately, she hasn't found a single soul, nor any fresh trails to follow. It's been a long day, and she's just starting to consider giving up when she catches a scent stronger than the others. Fresh. Suddenly rejuvenated, she follows it with light, quick steps until a dark shape in the distance draws her gaze. No food with the woman, if the lack of blood scent is anything to go by, though from here it looks like she's eating something. Frowning slightly, she pushes forward, closing the distance until she can confirm that the dark wolf is indeed eating snow. That can't be very filling, She says in a quizzical tone, steps slowing as the space between them dwindles to only a couple yards. Hopefully the stranger will have some explanation to satisfy her new curiosity.

Belharra supposed things could be worse as she snatched another mouthful of snow. She could be dead (and she suspected a certain fellow in Neverwinter wanted her dead, maybe), or worse, alive and not able to move (suspecting not even a whit that this was the fate to befall that enthralling creature Rhode). Or she could be even eating piss-stained snow. Thankfully, this mouthful was as crisp as the others, though an ashy taste fell to her mouth as she saw a stranger approach.

Thinking it was Mal, Belharra straightened up and issued an uproarious battle howl, ignoring the comment about her packing snow in her mouth. "Back for more, are ya, ye git?" She challenged, tail swaying as she took a swaggering step forward. She soon realized her error. Other than patchwork fur, there was nothing at all similar to suggest this girl was Mal. Heh, maybe the snow has gotten to her brain, or something.

Settling with an effusive smile of apology, Belharra sized up this girl: petite, patchy, and pretty. Oh, she was no sore thing for the eyes to thumb over; Belharra rather liked that dangerous red of her gaze. It wasn't something she was used to. "Oh, yer not the brute I was thinkin' of. Apologies, my lady." Belharra stuck a forepaw forward and ducked her head in a deep bow. "Name's Belharra McKinlaigh. As for the snow, well, beats an empty stomach, don't it?" She flashed her most winning smile then, waiting for Miss Winsome's reply.

Pleasant as this encounter was, after some talk Belharra bid the speckled lady goodbye. After all, if she stayed out here all day, who would lurk Neverwinter and cause havoc in her stead?!