Rivers listened, thoughtful as he spat feathers into snow. Famine, desperation, exodus. He'd seen it before. But this one had stayed. As a hunter, surely had the means to go anywhere else. What had kept her there, he wondered? Contending with Deathless Mothers.

And what a queer way of naming. Deathless meant little to a fae, but tended to be frightening or awe-inspiring for mortals. And mothers... benevolent, generally. Or the ideal of them was. Maybe this was the evil stepmum sort of figure. He was only more curious.

But she'd asked him a question. Rivers chuckled. Our spirits. And there a glint of mischief coloured his eyes as he gazed up at her. Depends on who ye ask.

Most prefer to keep to themselves and their own kind. But a few get curious, start branchin' out. Usually it's just 'armless fun they're after. Stolen laundry. Misplaced socks. Shoelaces tied together. No permanent harm to be had from it.

And some like feelin' helpful. Will do so most exuberantly when given the chance. Still, he'd been around long enough to know: But they don't see the world the same as mortals. Means the can be dangerous without strictly intending ill.

He paused to pull a strip of steaming meat into the air, maw tugged back to show gleaming teeth as he scarfed it down. Licked his lips. Smiled at her. Your homeland must be a beautiful countryside, to be worth staying through all that hardship for. He mused.