Nate was still learning the finer points of most of their band, and Samo was no exception. His propensity for direct eye contact felt at odds, sometimes, with his demurity in other aspects. But for Nate, who's own habitual staring he'd been trying to learn to temper since taking wolven form, the reciprocation was something of a relief.

As their gazes met, and held, he was struck with something like admiration at the soft hazel greens. Nothing else out here was particularly green, these days. It was a welcome reminder of the colors of spring. Hopefully, not a memorial for them.

Hawthorn, good idea. Nate agreed, lip pursing thoughtfully as he mused aloud: They'll be somewhere dry, best bet in sparser woods where they don't have to fight for shade. He figured Samo probably already know that. And probably didn't need help.

But Nate was curious, and the man and what he might come to mean to their growing number. Besides, the offer was made. I'd be happy to look with you. Winter's been a little longer this time around, but it can't have taken all of them, right?