it was one of those days.
athalia's body grew before her mind did. the meals provided to her by the bearwolves proved much more filling than the scrap she had been used to before them. sharp, gaunt limbs sprouted from her torso, and by now the bruinchild looked more spiderling than wolf.
with this growth came independence, in a way. she never strayed too far from the valley, but at times the urge overtook her to creep through the gateway and into the place where sunlight could find her. it was wet and yet crunchy; snow clung halfway up her legs, and she often stared at the drifts in search of unique footprints.

it was quiet. too quiet, until a boyish shriek pierced her eardrums: KATLA!

and in the distance, she saw him.

fascination drove the bruingirl onward. she pauses abruptly, her trot coming to a sudden stop, and in the glint of afternoon haze she can see the gunpowder hairs that line his bony cheeks, the apple-green eyes. he was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. he'd look even better upon a mantle.
quietly, sharply, athalia approaches with a low-hanging head and softly bent ears, tongue running along her bottom lip. hello!

immediately athalia was bombarded with a grand display of gestures she had never before seen. her own brothers had sharp teeth and strong limbs; never gentle, never happy. confused and perhaps startled, the bruingirl watches bug-eyed and attempts to mimic him by flopping belly first into the snow.
and she thought it was working, until it wasn't. he soon retreats with ire burning in those lovely green eyes. athalia, she says it as if they'd known each other for a hundred years and he was the strange one for not going along with it. were they not friends now? who you?

swiftlet. his name is swiftlet, like some kind of bird, and if athalia hadn't already been enthralled, she certainly was now. she leans close to his wrinkled snout and presses her nose up to the corner of his lips, taking in the scent of others upon him.
he asks about his sister. if the bruingirl had to guess, it would be that katla he was yapping about earlier. she wished he would focus on her and not the alleged mystical sibling. who cared about siblings? it wasn't like hers had ever really been good for anything. she blinks at him once, twice, thrice, before she scooches back and sits down a few inches away from him. perhaps she could make a game out of this. look like what? we find.

kind of like him, but brown. athalia brightens a little as she paints the picture in her mind of what the missing girl may look like. her torso wriggles eagerly. ancelin tracks, i track, she chirps, eyes bright and wide as saucers. we find! come.
she begins to lead him out toward the glade lying just north of her own valley home, nose intently pressed to the ground in the same way she'd seen ancelin do it — except, to be rather frank, athalia knew very little about what she was doing. she zig-zags rather frantically, pauses before rocketing off in one direction, circles back to go another. decidedly, she did not have enough of a scent to go off of.
the perfect solution to this? turning around so that she can press her face into swiftlet's ruff, of course. if she hadn't been intrusive before, she certainly was now, roaming about his body and gathering every molecule of information she can sink her claws into — which is absolutely what every awkward teenage boy wants to happen when they meet a girl, right?

it seems as though swiftlet is confused. athalia, ever the charmer, sought now to clarify. no, she mumbles, face very much still shoved in the wiry guard hairs that line his nape. me find scent. smell katla. find.
she grumbles as she, after a disconcertingly long time, grants him freedom from her proverbial clutches. blinking once, then twice, she stares at him as if she had forgotten what she was doing before abruptly turning to see if he will follow her.
perhaps it was conversation that he wanted. maybe it would have been better to do that before shoving her face in his chest, but athalia was a young woman of no regrets. you know an-cel-in? she asks, nose wrinkled as she scans the soil for any traces of the long-lost sister. bearclaw. i live. you from?

athalia did not think she had ever laughed in her life, but here she was now, jaws splitting in a crowish cackle over swiftlet's confusion. silly swiftlet, she teases. bearclaw is place. home. i bearclaw, you k-- kbar... karshim?
speaking was stupid and difficult, and athalia especially did not like it right now.
she brushes it off and continues her search, dragging the poor boy a good few more paces forward before she stops abruptly yet again. disappointment squeezes her features as she turns to look at her tracking buddy with some semblance of sadness. no smell katla.