in a little green boat

*Orica* · 10-11-2016, 05:45 PM

An answer was soon to follow. Over the rip and tear and howl of the coming blizzard, Orica's ears could easily have been fooled, but she swore she heard something. A word. A voice. A wolf.

"Yes! Is someone else there?" She found her paws in a moment - rushing forward through the maze of the strange, unnatural cave. Her claws skirted drifts of snow that had filtered in. She ducked her head under a strange line of the not-stone that had fallen like a tree in a storm. That had been a voice. She was sure. There were strange echos in that place - but it was hard to think a voice as high and feminine as her own could return in such a deep-chested tone. She hopped over another such beam and came towards the entrance.

There was someone there. Framed in the dying light - reflected off the white field beyond. The musky smell of male wolf, of other lands and other wolves, came in with the first draft that tore its way through, ruffling every inch of fur. Orica dipped her head out of the shadows for a better look at the strange markings and long fangs that descended from the male's muzzle. The size of a wild cat's claw - or longer. A bit alarming in appearence perhaps. But Orica had a healthier respect for forces stronger than any wolf could ever hope to be. She had grown up in the north, had a thick skin for it, and knew that storms like this were nothing to sneeze at. Nothing to joke about. A wolf could be dead in a matter of hours. And even if they were like Glaciem blood - the kind of behemoths who could waltz through a winter storm, the resulting white outs could get a wolf turned around or sent walking right off the edge of a cliff. "You should get inside," Orica said to the stranger, raising her voice ever so slightly over the wind. Her blue eyes were wide and bright, but unflinching as she looked him over. "This is going to get alot worse before it gets better."

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