Nova Peak same words

A week’s worth of thick, murky clouds had finally parted somewhat as the day came to its end. What little of the sky that poked through was painted pink and violet by the setting sun. The warmth the last of the rays provided was welcome on her aching bones.
Gwyneth could not remember the last time she’d gotten a full day’s rest. Since fleeing from their tribe her husband insisted they keep moving. Gwyneth obeyed (she always did) but not without protest (she always protested). Her quiet objections grew louder with each day, each week that they aimlessly roamed. Her anger soon became too much to contain and she screamed at her husband that morning. He screamed back at her. This inevitably became a long verbal battle that could be be heard from the mountain’s peak. When the dust settled her husband proclaimed he’d go off to hunt. He left her alone, growling beneath his breath as he stormed away.
These petty arguments were routine between them. As grating as they were, Gwyneth much enjoyed the peace the absence of her husband provided. She’d gotten the rest she so desperately craved. And when she had woken from her slumber that evening she was in good enough spirits to tidy the makeshift den for her mate. She dusted out the dead leaves and nettles. Disposed of whatever bugs inhabited the little cave. Perhaps, she thought, she’d even make bedding for him once she was finished.

What a joyous occasion it was! Ingvar was out on his own, dispersed from the rich pack he'd been born into. Wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, he was ready to take on the world. Make new friends, explore new places, and hopefully sample the local selection of single ladies. It was a brand new day in a brand new place, and nothing was going to bring Ingvar down.

And so, when his nose brought him the heavy smell of wolf, he wasted no time following the trail to his first destination: a small cave with somebody rustling around inside.

Good morning! he said. And though he did not enter the cave, he did attempt to see who was inside. So far, no luck. Two distinct scents mingled here, and Ingvar was eager for company.

A man’s voice was heard just outside. Perhaps her heart wouldn’t have leapt the way it did had it been her husband. It was much to chipper to be him.
Slowly she emerged with her chin up high. Her eyes laid upon the man. Hardly a man yet, but with the promise of being a mighty one. Oh, how the young ladies of her tribe would have swooned over this one. Kings would rush to make a soldier of him. Gwyneth however saw him as nothing. If not an annoyance. Yet she smiled, fake as it may be.
Shwmae, boy, she greeted. What brings you here?

She sized him up and smiled. That was enough of a friendly invitation to him! He plopped down on his haunches and settled in for a chat.

Gesundheit! he said to her greeting, then grinned to let her know he was only pulling her leg. Name's Ingvar. Just passing through, I suppose. You got a friend nearby, too?

He’d gone on and made himself quite comfortable. Sat down as though he’d owned the place. Gwyneth tensed, only for a moment. A reminder that she was no longer with her clan at sea quelled this sudden possessiveness that gripped her.
The boy introduced himself as Ingvar, a nomad. Though she can only assume the latter from his smell. No other scents but his clung to his ivory coat.
Gwyneth. Rothchilds. I am traveling with my husband at the moment, but he isn’t nearby. He’s gone out on a hunting trip.

She made a point to mention her husband, and Ingvar wondered if perhaps she'd gotten the wrong impression. Sure she was awfully pretty, but he wasn't going to step on anybody's toes. Oh, fellow travelers! he beamed. Wherabouts are you headed? Then again, maybe they didn't have a particular destination in mind. Perhaps they, like him, would know it when they saw it.