Dal waited patiently as the question was prompted; only silence filled the air. Her eyes were examining as much as they could from this distance. But she feared that if she stepped any closer, the wolf might run off. The berry that had tasted so sweet in her mouth now felt more sour on her tongue, knowing that it could be put to better use.

The spotted dove's chin wobbled, just about to offer some of the berries she'd previously picked, but a noise finally came from the other; a raspy wheeze, tone rusted from ages of being put out of use. The sound makes Dal flinch, but not because it makes her feel afraid. No, it reminded her of a time ages ago when she, too, mirrored this poor creature. Nothing but skin and bones, words stuck in her chest because they could never quite rise through her throat. She wondered how long they'd been like this — seven or eight months like she had? Or even longer?

They shook their head, 'no,' indicating that they were not from either place. I see... You are alone then? Without a pack, surely, but maybe... Was there someone around here that they clung to? Or... who clung to them? A wave of anxiety ran through her, wondering if they were trapped like Freya once had been. Perwinkle eyes flicker across the underbrush that they had once emerged from, but then back to them. Then, her anxiety fled from her, as if it weren't there at all, tunnel vision on them.

You must be hungry. I was picking some berries for breakfast, and I definitely don't think I can haul them all back. She hummed, her eyes not leaving the other as she swiftly moved her paw, spilling the small pouch of berries open and pushing the evidence of the pouch away under one of the bushes. If they decided to come over, maybe it'd look like she really couldn't carry them back, that she had no way to.