Her paws are wet, muddy, covered in filth. Something she's adjusted to, used to, but doesn't mean she likes it. No, she needs to get out of this damn swamp before a crocodile gets her. Looking around, barely registering the other wolf nearby, she listens to his words with one ear in his direction. Lost as she was. Couldn't blame him either. There was a thick fog lingering, covering tracks and condensing scents into nothing. Frustration flickers across her expression as she lets out a disgruntled huff through her nostrils.
"Lumine. We're in the swamplands south of the mountains." She's still searching. Taking a few mucky steps that make suction noises as her paws pull free of mud toward him, she turns around and then stops before him. "If we find a landmark, it'll be easier to get out," her tone is matter-of-fact, trying to tamp down the fear and agitation that lingers beneath. It was not like her to get lost. She was good, no, great at navigation so to admit defeat was to be miserable.
"Some say if you can find the palm that is a cluster of three growing together, you can find your way out," her voice is thick and accented as well. She was raised from birth to speak both the common tongue and that of her father's homeland - a language she'll never forget. "Let us look for it," she points her nose in a direction she believes the cluster of palms to be in, but she's not entirely sure.
