Ankyra Sound viking death march

rank meant little to her. as long as Rusalka could provide bodies - living or not, she was not that fussy - she would remain. there was no fantasy of loyalty with the young woman. she would give people respect if they earned it, and did not expect any in return. perhaps they knew this and did not approach her easily. she caught the gazes once or twice before continuing on. no one had come up to her as she chose a den. no one offered help as she went out to collect herbs. she did not want company anyway.

Huntington was a being who thrived in solitude. so why did she join a pack? bodies. there was nothing else. no illusion of companionship. no want nor no need for anyone else. nothing mattered to her but her skillset. how to explain it further... she knew which herbs grew around the coast. she knew how to cut and bleed as well as fix and mend. sometimes the process was both and - oh - she was joyful for that. for now, she was gathering a little stock of foliage outside her den. back bent over, uttering nonsense near those that would pass by.

her eyes were wide, expressionless if not bulging a bit. she'd stare down at the various plants she'd acquired, lifting a paw to sort through them. various earthen scents wafted from her place of residence as if one expected to find more within. she was not ignorant if another approached, though the task was clear; she was doing something. she had little time for socializing.