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Bristling in an instant and shaking himself dry, Rancor leaned forward on trembling, tired legs and stretched. Lowering to his knees and then splaying out on his belly, he confirmed that this was real snow. But he thought he’d left home? Licking his nose with a dull-colored tongue, he took the opportunity to pant while he was still warmed in his core.

Mojave was an afterthought at this very moment, and while he did intend to address it, there was something in the distance that he could not peel his eyes away from. Widened, curious, his ears perked to listen to the wolf’s words. Looking over and furrowing his brow, sore legs were placed beneath him to stand. Proudly! Haven’t an idea, He woofed, gesturing with his nose to the pink glow ahead. Blizzardclan territory? Mojave was the scout who lived here, he’d know. There were a lack of towering ice spires and he could not scent any freshly-downed prey on the wind. He knew the wolves of Ferinine were avid over-hunters, and this was strange to him.

Breathing in the pleasant, calming fragrance drifting from upwind, the Ijii allowed himself to relax some. He had not seen this man in.. ages? Still, if somewolf had to step up, it would be him. He didn’t know why the tan wolf might be confused, but.. Well, he wouldn't trust a friend he hadn't seen in over a year to have his safety in mind.

He felt a pinching in his shoulders and winced, allowing his head to droop. The snow in the air landed on his pelt and lingered, which he was rather used to. However, on account of being soaked to the bone after his multiple-week swim, he figured he’d take his chances with a possible source of warmth. Is that a fire? These idiots finally learned to make use of themselves? Rancor leaned forward before speeding up into a trot, inviting his companion to follow after. He figured a desert wolf might enjoy a fire, too.