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His ears twisted slowly, breathing soft and quiet as he strained either funnel to pick up the faint song of far-away lurching and lunging waters at the base of the glacier. He’d never known Blizzardclan territory to cut off by the sea so abruptly. A sigh settled his slightly ruffled pelt and heavy-lidded lavender eyes swung back around to Mojave.

The smell of the fire was so.. Pleasant. So calming here, though they had shuffled over toward the edge of its light and thus a great distance away from the brunt of the smoke. Or so he thought. Rancor hadn’t encountered many fires so large in his time, without wood or something else to burn, like the blubber and oil from a grand old whale washing ashore. The memories that came with the dull warmth in his paws and face and nose were fond to him, and with a quiet yawn, he rolled over some to thoughtlessly expose his white-furred belly. The whale-hunter might never have considered such a thing when he was out in the open, but it would be a far stretch to suggest they weren’t alone by now.

Ought to, if we don’t want to end up like the Amorak of wherever this is. A yawn parted his maw, black lips pulling back as he slowly seeped closer into the perfectly him-shaped bends and curves of Mojave’s body. Such a big investigation sounds like a pretty ‘we’ situation. The effects of the flame upon him were not flamboyant in nature. But there were signs that he had huffed about as much smoke as his dreary mind could take for now. Reaching his paw over and around his companion’s back to prop him up better as a pillow, he tried his best not to kick him in the face as he did. You think?