"Korok, then." Rifa isn't snuffled upon, but that's all right. Frostfang understands she's not a danger and that's all that matters. She doesn't need to win the affection of every wolf she comes across, though a part of her yearns to. The wolves of Azeroth seem to be so short-lived compared to the lifelong companions she knew on her old world.

But that was a very long time ago, now, and a place far away; the wind howls outside and the snow falls in droves, and she knows she has to focus on the present. She unclasps her cloak from around her shoulders and shakes the snow off. And then, slowly and easily, she approaches.

"You are probably colder than I am." She's forty but she's by no means elderly, which means taking care of the older ones. And the younger ones. She's-- well, that's just how she is. He's blind, and she can tell by the way he doesn't quite meet her eyes, so she takes advantage of it in this small way by settling her huge fur cloak around his shoulders without permission.

She sits beside him but not close enough to invade his personal space. Instead, she looks over the firewood that's been gathered. "I can handle the fire, if you need." She sighs, blowing a bit of floofy dark hair out of her eyes. "If only I hadn't lost my bow, we would have some food tonight."