Faeline felt the gentle collision of his skull to her haunches. She almost whipped back and chided him away, but she also knew that a scolding was the last thing Rhydian would need—especially considering the fragile state he was in. In lieu of obeying her initial instinct, the woman kept silent and lowered her gaze towards the treeline to which he gestured.

Hm, she grunted in agreement, glancing at Rhydian, lead the way, then. She coiled her tail by his hocks to coax him forward, brow raised and lips pursed in thought. The fog that clouded his mind moments prior had evidently lifted—at least, somewhat. The velvety drawl of a languid state was cleared from his sonorous voice, returning to the morosely spoken rasp it was once before.

The sun drew lower over the horizon, and the gilded rays from its light withdrew behind the jagged mountains residing afar. Faeline pursed her lips. Sunbeams now receding, the air grew unopposed by the warmth provided prior; the arctic dame could handle the cold with ease. She was knowledgeable about methods used to conceal oneself away from the frigidity of boreal nights, and even without such techniques, the dense, porcelain-pure tresses that embraced her supple body could withstand harsh blizzards and unrelenting windstorms with hardly a hitch.

She... wasn't sure if she could say the same for Rhydian. Faeline could observe without a doubt that his frame—imposing in breadth and height, bedecked with scars across his grand physique—could bear the heaviest of burdens. Yet his pelt, blanketing his sinewy body with silken locks of deep-hued taupe and accented with vibrant russet, seemed lighter; too light for the tundra and its heimal conditions.

Yet, the she-wolf would prefer avoiding the error of underestimating him to fretting over him without necessity. She kept her jaws shut and the words of concern in her throat.

Silent as an owl, Faeline padded over the snow in sinuous motions, keeping wan eyes transfixed on her companion before her.