[Her face goes momentarily blank in the wake of his description, aureate eyes turned vacuous and unknowing. He says white wolf with all the breezy confidence in the world, like this is something anyone would be able to identify on sight. She's heard of wolves, she thinks, from stories. Believes they're a mammal and so likely have fur, which in this instance must therefore be white. But no animals had lived in the stark and vertical crack drilled down into the planet's core where Drearburh had been not so much erected as burrowed. Nothing save those that crawled in the dark, many legged, seldom seen. She'd beheld fish at Canaan House, and the wheeling flight of birds. Had devoured meat she'd been unable to name. But wolves?]
Yeeaaah. White wolf. Got it.
[She says, strangely unwilling to admit that she has not, in fact, got it at all. Takes a swig from her drink to hide the onset of her uncertainty. Looking out for a white furry creature she has never before lain eyes on seems, to her, as though it will do.]
no subject
Yeeaaah. White wolf. Got it.
[She says, strangely unwilling to admit that she has not, in fact, got it at all. Takes a swig from her drink to hide the onset of her uncertainty. Looking out for a white furry creature she has never before lain eyes on seems, to her, as though it will do.]