[ That the wolf is apparently somehow tame is of minor consolation to Irving, although as with all predators, it's hard to fully trust the creature even at its most seemingly docile. After all, even a well-trained dog will still bite a man deep enough to bleed sometimes, so how do you ever train out the hunter's instincts from a wolf?

Irving chooses, for now, to trust the girl, if not the wolf itself. As she cautiously approaches, he's able to glimpse the burns that mar her fingers as well, keeping his gaze respectfully trained low until she's permitted him otherwise, then making every effort not to flinch from her touch when she gently inspects his hand. ]

The same, yes, [ he affirms slowly, with a nod. ] Although I can't understand how fog could ever leave behind such damage, even at these temperatures.

[ And frostbite doesn't present this way, at least not as far as Irving's ever seen.

His hand trembles slightly in hers, not so much from pain as from nerves. ]

First things first, [ he says with a nod, withdrawing his hand and curling it at his chest. ] I-I'll go make the fire.

[ Tacit agreement with the rest of her plan, as well, since the cabin appears so obviously spare that he never questioned meltwater would be their only source for it— were there even a well nearby, it would surely be too frozen to use.

Plus, he knows how to make a fire, even if it's a bit more challenging to do with one good hand. Something to focus on, though, which is helpful, since conversation will become easier while he's faced away from her. ]

But you may be at ease, miss, for I'm sure I'm as much a stranger to this land as you are. Lieutenant John Irving, of Her Majesty's Royal Navy.

[ "Stranger" is perhaps not entirely accurate, granted, but he's certainly not from here.

He glances at her briefly, over his shoulder. ]

You say your brother is... here, up north? Somewhere close by?