The trip is short for an adult, but long for a young thing like herself. By the time they reach the Dale, her thin legs are shaking with the effort. She’s almost too tired to take in their surroundings, but when they do finally stop to rest in the Dale itself, she manages a quick glance around and is immediately blown away.

The Dale is nothing like the den - there’s green (green!) everywhere she looks. She lets out a little gasp of wonder. It’s more beautiful than anything else she’s seen in her short life. She’s too tired now though to do any exploring. She immediately leans into Weir’s speckled side, snuggling into the warmth. He’s gesturing to something though and she pulls her head out of his shoulder to blink at the little birds surrounding them. “S-serus auwoca-capiya?” In her tired state, the latin words make even less sense than they would have normally. “Ovenbird,” is much simpler though. She likes that name better.

Her little brown eyes finally focus on the creature, noticing the orange stripe on its head, and the speckled feathers. “They’re pretty.” It’s more brightly plumed than any bird she’s ever seen - there were only crows in the den. But she’s not really sure about these other things that Weir is talking about. “Oven? What’s an oven?” She knows nothing about such human contraptions. Not yet anyway.

A great yawn escapes her and she once again buries her face in Weir’s side, leaving a long frosty streak on his coat. “Mister Weir I’m tired.” Hopefully there’s somewhere nearby where she can take a nap.

She’s decided that she quite likes Weir. He’s a bit funny, especially in the way that he talks, but he’s also very kind, and very interesting. Both very important things to a girl of her age.

She can’t help but smile as he agrees with her, both looking at the plucky little ovenbirds. One of the little orange capped bird flits about, moving from the ground to the branches of a nearby tree. A tiny, wistful sigh escapes her. She wishes she could fly. Now wouldn’t that be something!

She nearly does take flight however when another voice rings out somewhere closer to her feet! “Ahh!” Neva stumbles backward, then stops when she spots the large green roundish thing on the ground. Big brown eyes grow even wider as she peers nervously at the green thing … which thankfully quickly introduces itself. “Dar-win?” Her little nose begins to work, taking in the creature’s strange scent. It’s definitely not a horse. “Gala … Ga … Gapalogos … turtle?” She takes a half step forward, then another and another, until her little pale nose is inches away from the turtle’s little green head. “Nice to meetcha!” She strains even closer, whuffling at the smell, and accidentally boops the turtle on top of his little head. “Oh!” Neva skitters back, embarrassed. “Sorry!”

Weir is talking again, and suddenly tiny little white flakes begin swirling all around them. Somehow her little eyes widen even further as a big white shape starts growing around them, closing them in. It’s a bit chilly, but it feels right, especially when Weir lies down beside her to cuddle. Unbeknownst to her, the little layer of frost is starting to build over her fur again, bit by bit. Before she allows herself to be taken by sleep however, she turns her head to look up at Weir. “How?” How on earth did he do that?