Duck Lake Before I can live with folks, I have to live with myself.

When the other woman sat (with a grimace, she noted), a trickle of crimson peeking out from her alabaster pelage caught Aqakuktuq's attention, a flash of surprise evident in her eyes for just a heartbeat. She thought the faint coppery scent of blood was solely from the freshly-killed goose, but it must've been emenating from the wolfess, as well. The injured snowfield's eyes showed a silent yet prominent interest in Aqakuktuq's feathers, and she appeared to be in decent shape, but the fisherwoman felt it was inappropriate to pretend her injuries weren't there. They couldn't have been from geese, nasty as the birds could be.

Are you alright? What gave you those wounds? She asked. The questions made her concern clear, though her tone remained even as if inquiring about something out of mere curiosity. Pesi had circled back around after noticing the holdup and landed behind Aqakuktuq, eyeing the unfamiliar wolf curiously.