The cat smiled outwardly and beamed with a silent pride. The Orc wasn't the only one who could spot a secret. As they continued up the path it became progressively harder to see anything without magical aid, though some quick peeks of the environment with simple detection spells showed nothing of note asides from the occasional snow-covered corpse of assorted wildlife, surely leftovers from the previous adventurers that had decided to go forward before them.
She mulled over the Orc's name. Dura gra-Shurk, was it? It certainly sounded Orcish to Mazathad-Dra, though she couldn't make out its significance, if there was any. Her own name didn't mean anything, after all. There was still quite a ways to go, and many things she still wished to know. What was it like being dead, did it hurt, was keeping it a secret difficult, what was someone like her doing, did she want it cured...?
After some deliberation, she chose to start from the beginning.
You do not need to worry, you will find that Mazathad-Dra is good at keeping secrets.
Not exactly true, but she didn't allow the illusion to show it.
If it is well with you, this one wishes to know how you came to reach such a state. Surely it must have been rather unpleasant. It must be quite a tale.