Whitebark Stream Don't drag me along to your slaughterhouse.

Daylily nearly bumped into the male before she finally saw him. “Oh!” she said, coming to a sudden halt upon noticing him. “I—I’m sorry. I was lost in thought.” She scrunched her eyebrows, seeing the squirrel held in his jaws. “What are you going to do with that?” she asked. “Is it for the caches?” She brightened a bit at the thought, reminding herself that even if she couldn’t hunt big game, she could still hunt little creatures, as well as fish. Perhaps she wouldn’t be useless, after all. She smiled at the man, glad to have bumped into him—no pun intended. “Forgive me; my name is Daylily, of Oakstead.”