No Poetry but the Stars

I'm happy for you. All at once, the clouds covering the moon above cleared from view. The snow lit with light from above, creating a landscape that seemed ripped straight from her dreams. A real winter wonderland. Asmul's words were one of the first genuinely kind things she'd heard in Boreas, after Torin's offer for her to stay in the pack. But was that really a kindness? Did he simply pity her, like everyone else?

At least this stranger's kindness was offered without prompting, and presumably without anything expected in return. "Thank you," she replied quietly, offering him a genuine smile. She peered out over the waves, wondering where the landmass was that Asmul gestured towards. "My name is Ragnheiðr, by the way. Some friends used to call me Rags." Time and damage to her memory couldn't pinpoint whether the nickname was given in kindness or in cruelty, but most wolves had trouble pronouncing her name anyway. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" The stars glittered above like diamonds scattered across a stretch of plush, dark velvet. "Even though it's cold, I can see why you might like it up here. Have you found a pack out in these parts?" A white wolf from the festival had mentioned a Northern pack... what was their name? Winterbell?