His breath plumes around his whiskered muzzle with each breath; icicles cling to his eyelashes and the long winter hairs of his face. The soft muffled sound of another's approach draws a single tattered ear behind him. Their steps are slow, ambling - good - a signal that it was not the owner of this land he has found himself tresspassing within. Their steps freeze and soon after a soft femenine voice question fills the narrow space between them. "You don't belong here?" she asks and then follows with another question, "Who are you?"

Both fair questions.

A long pause follows her questions before he finally draws a breath and swivels his bone white face to meet hers. "I don't belong here," he agrees gruffly "I am just a passing through." His tone is deep and thick with a Nordic accent.

Lazily he flicks his ice tipped tail across his white-splashed sides as he shifts his weight. "I am of those who have come before me," a smirk plays at his whiskered lips knowing that he was purposely avoiding the answer to her question. "Who are you?" he asks with a nod. His glacial blue eyes sweep across the sharp curve of her cheekbones and notes the soft roaning of her hips. "And what brings you out of your bed at this time of night?" he asks with a raise of his brow.

Sneaking away from a lover's embrace to visit another? A fight before bed has left her restless? Or perhaps the answer was simpler... She was an ansomniac much like himself. Nightmares have haunted the viking as of late - and despite his efforts to push them away - many nights they drive him from his bed. He draws a ragged breath and pivots to face her, glacial blue eyes meet hers.