Do you see what's happening?

His ear closest to her turns to listen to her soft, but measured tone. Unlike Vesper, she behaves very differently. It's not much to go off of, but he can only assume they had two very different upbringings. Now wasn't the time for his curiosity to be getting in the way. Not when the smell of rot wafts into his nostrils. Trying to focus on what she says, Wilder gives an affirming nod.

"Most the lan' north of these woods is all ice and snow. The groun' 'ere never really gets a chance to drain 'er dry," Wilder mentions, his western accent strong and perhaps hard to understand at times. "A map, hm," he glances around, toward the top of the gnarled and twisting trees and around to the brush and tree trunks that lined the trail. "Light won' do ya much good in 'ere," his voice is matter-of-fact without being condescending. "Cause there's so many branches an' the trees're all tight knit, only light yer really seein' is what makes it way through the canopy," he lifts his muzzle to point toward the sky where most of it is obscured by the blooming leaf canopy above.

Were those leaves speckled with black and grey? Maybe he was seeing things...