Bearclaw Valley you're the voice that i like

@Milan !! giggling

newest addition to the valley, woman born of snow, kissed by it, decorated in it, wandered through it with wide, pale eyes, like that of a newborn doe. she had seen mountains, before. the cloudspires, the wanderer's valley, the tall peaks of the seal island, but she knew that this place would be beautiful, come the spring, then the summer, when this valley would be bustling, bursting at the seams with life.

now, polar-cub searched for a spot to den. somewhere to be close to her packmates - that was what she wanted most. to learn of each of them, to develop friendships and communal ties within these lands. every day, she wished to meet someone new. although, perhaps that was too hopeful a wish. tail swayed, innocent in the way a younger woman may be, full of wonder. although something distant, something thoughtful stained her child-like gaze. something that warned her of getting too close.

nanuralaaq heaved a breath, squeezing her eyes shut for a moment before opening them and scanning the valley, searching for any wolves who may be nearby.

Milana was hard at work. Over the winter she was dedicating herself to ensuring that each den was kept warm; filled with comfortable pelts as they came, and cleaned out as they were soiled. She kept the dirtied pelts in a spare den she had dug out, where they would remain until the spring's warmer weather when she could wash them without the worry of things freezing.

A collection of rabbit pelts clutched in her jaw, she moved through the snowy forest with a practiced grace when an unfamiliar scent hit her.

Pausing, she stared ahead with fearful doe eyes at the strange pale woman who stood a few feet ahead of her.

gaze bore upon her, a feeling that did not go unnoticed, and so she would turn, peering at whomever it was that stared so shamelessly. woman of brown furs, alongside almost-ginger and a white underbelly stood before the snowwoman. indigo eyes looked petrified, and so dawn-gaze would furrow, slightly. confused.

polar-cub would draw herself forwards. hello, she tested, though the greeting came out sounding almost like a question, as if wondering of the strangers' responsiveness. ah, stranger was not right, considering she was a packmate. unknowing of the name of the still woman in front of her, she would ask: are you alright? your name?

As the woman drew closer, Milan placed the pelts in the soft snow to take in her scent. Bearclaw was on her, though it did not yet encase her. A new member.

Milan's expression grew far more relaxed now, a gentle smile finding her face. You are a new member? She spoke now, her tail waving at her hocks. I am Milan, Bearclaws Visor. It felt good to be able to introduce herself with such a role.

She hoped that her initial reaction had not offended the other. Maybe they would understand her caution.

oh! rala said, then, her lips taking the form of the letter that went by the same sound. brows raised, as if momentarily shocked by her own foolishness. her expression, then, faded to something that resembled embarrassment ; a careful smile, brows drawn together and a soft shake of her head. yes. i am new, a soft chuckle lacing her words.

the circled this woman, then, as if inspecting. a similar height to herself, yet without the huntress's physique. feather of bluebird stuck to her pelt with what seemed to be sap, she introduced herself as milan, alongside announcing her role as visor. seemingly having gathered any possible information she could extract from appearances alone, the snowwoman moved to sit in front of her packmate - her higher-up ; the visor.

then, she would relinquish her own name: i am nanuralaaq, cub of polar bear, and, without missing a beat, she would surrender the nickname that had once only been intended as a vulnerability for those closest to her. now, having experienced several butcherings, and witnessing the struggle that came to pronouncing the arctic title, she merely said: you may call me rala - shortened form. with a small smile.

curious then. and as unabashed as one could be. may i ask, how did you end up here, milan? a single question, one that the huntress hoped could spark a conversation.

perhaps ... a friendship.

She followed the woman as she circled the doe, Milan never one to let a stranger take her back.

The other, now revealed to be called Nanuralaaq, asked how she had ended up in Bearclaw - and Milan had to consider the question. I just stumbled in, really. She frowned, lost for better words. I was caught in the rain, and missed the border. Ameline allowed me to stay.

They were away at a large hunt, Ameline only visiting to check on things, so it was my job to guard borders until they returned. A feat she was still quite proud of.

i am surprised you were not made guard, then, snowwoman hummed, thinking, almost absent-mindedly, to cole's role of guard. especially considering that it had been the guard who had recruited her, brought her from duck lake to the valley. curious.

with a tap of her tail, she said: but i suppose guardship must not be your biggest skill? for if it was, she would be more commended for it. although, keeping hold of the valley while most were away at a hunt was certainly a feat worthy of praise. what is it that you prefer to do, milan? talent, or, ah, skill-wise? curious. she wished to learn of her packmates, and so milan, the visor, would be her first - of many, rala hoped.

She stared unblinking momentarily as she listened, unsure if she should take offence the the other's words. Nonetheless, she was a bit embarrassed now.

Physical work is not what I prefer. She stated lightly. Pupsitting, working with pelts, advising, that is what I'm better for. It was what she was raised to do. Her purpose in her father's eyes.

Eyeing the branches above them, she let out a breath. My job as visor is good for that. It let's me take care of my packmates.

and although the snowwoman's intentions were not to offend, her unabashed self and her broken common were not exactly tools. but her sense of honour was - instilled within her from a young age, she had learnt that many had skills that others did not have, no matter how big or small, and should be commended for such, and so rala said: you should be proud of your skills, smiling in a manner that was truly, visibly genuine.

many do not know where to start when it comes to rearing whelps, nanuralaaq pointed out. nor working with pelts, or advising. you are doing things that many could not fathom themselves doing. a useful member within the pack, and, perhaps she may be considered a suck-up, but her tone was casual when she said such, portraying her truest belief that everyone was useful in their own way. there was not enough time in the world for one to laze about not doing what one loved, nor what they are good at.

so, her efforts were commendable. may i ask of your hobbies?

perhaps they shared something to bond over, aside their interest in pupsitting. she wondered, then, if milan also wished to have litters of her own someday, just as rala did.

In her state of embarrassment, Rala's kind words only caused her to further shrink into herself. Milan had always been a nervous soul - Frederick seemed to be her only exception.

Well, I like to make pelts into tools. I can make accessories too.  It wasn't much, but Milan had grown up with it. There was little else she knew how to do effectively that she found enjoyable.

Pawing at the ground now, she looked for a question to ask in return. It was polite. Where did you come from?

a shy woman, no doubt. rala would try to convey her warmth, but she was not sure she was doing a good job at it. milan did not seem receptive in the way others had, but nanuralaaq would still make an attempt to get through to the woman, nonetheless.

she gave a pleasant hum when milan listed her hobbies, nodding her head approvingly, before she would answer her question. far north. two weeks of walking, she begun. my family is from umingmak pijjutingit, ah, muskox grounds. beautiful, and harsh, a dry laugh left black lips, as if both humorous and distant, the memories a mix of pain and joy. life and death, as all things were. very cold.

and that was all she had to say of the place. rala's past was a vulnerability she was not keen in sharing too much of, and so she would spin the question back on the woman before her: and you? what of your homeland? a tilt of her head ; encouraging smile.

An unwillingness to share stories of home was what they shared, ironically. Sprawling plains. Temperate summers, but it snows heavily in the winter. She looks back to the pelts she had carried previous to their conversation.

Tell me when you have dug your den out - I'll bring pelts for you to line it with. Her eyes lift to meet Rala's, waiting for confirmation.

and it seemed that their conversation had come to a plateau. as to avoid awkwardness, the woman would stand, though offering a nudge of her paw to the woman's shoulder ; a friendliness that she would not mind unrequited. a smile all the same.

i will, milan, rala said. i hope we may be considered friends, as you are my first of this valley. it was a pleasure speaking with you. and she would wait for a moment, in case there was anything left to say. should there be silence, though, she would give a gentle nod, and turn away. seeking someplace to make a den of her own so she may rest.

She offers a gentle nod, lifting her pelts from the ground. It will be good to have another woman in the valley.

As Rala exits, Milan continues on her path. There is work to be done, and dens to visit.