Swiftcurrent Creek and the place you need to reach

she found it distant curious that a woman painted in crimson could produce a son mantled in snow, but the thought was largely ignored as the woman confirmed her hopes. relief crested and broke like a wave against rock, and the woman dipped her head in turn. "thank you."  she committed the names to memory, stark contrasts to her own family's habit of short and simple titles, but would turn over their oddness later. the boy was offered a slight smile despite her intent focus at securing the boy, a soft wave of her plume before falling in step behind the mother, softness vanished.