Fairspell Meadow importance to the state

the footfalls of another break thru wintersbane's rumination, drawing his sharp glacial gaze in the woman's direction; scent of pack unfamiliar to him carrying upon the gentle, if not chilly winter breeze that floats lazily through the meadow. she is a mixture of greys and creams and greets him with a polite nod, a gentle smile and soft spoken words. ❝hello,❞ the tundrian returns the greeting with his own; head tipping in what could be described as a gentlemanly manner.

a shift of weight is given and wintersbane steps over a hoof print; large paw-print destroying the deer mark in accident. he peers down at the crunch of snow underfoot and peers back at the stranger with a soft snort. it wasn't as if he was tracking and if she is then he doubts his single step will keep her from finding her quarry who's trail is still visible further along.

❝i'm well,❞ the tundrian responds to what he feels is an unusual question; though he speaks honestly all the same. ❝and yourself?❞ asking about the wellbeing of strangers who's name they don't even know strikes him as odd a second time as he returns it to her out of knee-jerk politeness ( that he does not always harbor ).