Big Salmon Lake Why are you hanging on so tight

AW!

the lake stretched vast and quiet before her, its surface kissed by the pale glow of early morning. mist clung to the edges where reeds bent under the weight of frost, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and distant pine.
periane worked in silence, save for the soft hymn that murmured from her lips, a prayer of devotion as her paws moved with careful precision over the fox hide. crimson stains bled into the water, swirling in delicate ribbons before vanishing into the lake’s depths.
she did not flinch at the blood. the act was sacred, a cleansing of both body and spirit. her voice never wavered, gentle but steady, as she smoothed the pelt over a flat stone, letting the cold water purify it.
the hymn carried through the still air, a quiet offering. she had always found comfort in the ritual, in the steady rhythm of work and prayer intertwined.

She rarely left the mountain these days. It wasn’t fear that kept Tiuttuk home but a strange sense of dread. What if she left, just for a few hours, and returned to find it empty? Or what if a stranger slipped over their borders and pillaged their village while she was away? Pie knew these weren’t exactly rational fears, yet all the same, it took a lot of inner coaxing to get her feet to carry her away from the mount.

She just needed a short reprieve, so she didn’t go far. She threaded through the bottleneck where Bramblepoint met Firefly Glen and approached the lake over yonder. Tiuttuk immediately spotted the stranger seated on the shore, washing what looked like a fox’s pelt. The sight made her think of her anaa, her chest tightening. She made a small noise to announce her presence and slipped closer.

Greetings, she said quietly into the frosty morning air.

periane did not startle at the noise, nor at the voice that followed, though her ears flicked toward the sound in quiet acknowledgment. her hands, steady and practiced, continued their work as the hymn she had been humming tapered into silence.
the fox hide, damp and darkened from the lake’s touch, lay stretched between her paws. she lifted it slightly, squeezing out excess water before draping it over a smooth stone to dry. only then did she turn to regard the woman who had come to her.
soft, steady eyes traced the contrast of shadow and light across the stranger’s coat—coal black, snowy white, kissed with embers. striking. her voice, when it came, was smooth as flowing water, laced with quiet reverence.
well, hello there.
the words carried warmth, but there was something measured beneath them. the way periane held herself—tall but unassuming, composed yet deeply present—spoke of someone who weighed every interaction with careful thought.
you walk softly, she observed, voice gentle, unhurried. one might think you did not wish to be seen. a pause, then, a quiet, knowing smile. do you know how to cure pelts?

thank you for joining <3

Do I? Treepie said with a blink, huffing a quiet laugh before adding, I don’t mind being perceived, at least today. She paused, yellow eyes flicking over the red fur now drying on a smooth slab of stone. No, not really. My mother does though.

Her glance lingered for a moment as she reveled in some memory or other. But Pie soon turned her attention back to the woman. Her fur was as pale as it was thick. The warm look in her eyes matched her friendly tone. Tiuttuk smiled at her, though she resisted the urge to ease onto her haunches.

First, she queried, Do you mind some company? I’m Tiuttuk.

periane smiled softly, humming a low note beneath her breath—an echo of old songs, fading sweetly into the air between them.
i never mind good company, tiuttuk, she said, gesturing with her paw for the girl to come closer. her voice was quiet, yet warm—like summer sun through church glass. sit here, if you’d like. i'm periane.
the fox pelt lay between them, damp from its wash, carefully stretched upon the stone. periane’s paw hovered above a bundle of wildflowers—lavender, fireweed, sweetgrass—then she began to gently press them into the red fur, moving slow and mindful.
many do it differently, i think, she went on, brushing the crushed petals deeper with the flat of her paw. some bury herbs in the ground and let the scent rise. others dry the skin first. but i like this. she pressed a little more firmly. i rub the fresh flowers into its furs after its wash… then, to dry.
she tilted her head, eyes soft. it carries the memory of bloom longer, this way.

When the woman made it clear Treepie wasn’t infringing, she reposed on the other side of the stone. Her eyes followed Periane’s movements as her paws hovered over a cluster of wildflowers. She gathered the bundle in her paws and began rubbing them against the damp red fur. Pie could smell their fragrance as the plants broke apart under Periane’s ministrations.

Makes sense to me, the yearling mused. The damp always seems to make the smell stronger, at least. Like when it rains, everything smells a hundred times more intense.

She wished she could remember just how Sialuk had prepared her skins. It would’ve been nice to pay homage to her anaa by emulating her that way. And the ulaq—once her mother’s, now hers—could use a few new ones. Treepie bit at her lip. She could ask Periane to show her but it wouldn’t be the same.

What do you plan to do with it? she asked instead.

periane offered a small shrug, soft and slow, her expression gently bemused. maybe a gift, she said, thoughtful as her paws worked the crushed petals deeper into the fox's dampened hide. for neighboring packs, perhaps. a gesture.
her voice carried its usual calm, something serene, as if the gods themselves moved her paws. but i do not have one myself, she admitted with no sorrow, only acceptance. not yet.
she glanced to tiuttuk then, a flicker of warmth catching her pale features in the rising light. some gifts are meant to travel far before they know where they belong.
her tail gave the faintest sway behind her as she resumed her motions. this one will smell like rain and lavender when it’s dry. it’ll keep someone safe. or warm. or reminded of something good.
she did not say who. that part was not yet written.

Periane didn’t have any particular plans in mind. She mused about gifting it to another pack, the word “neighboring” making Treepie wondered if she lived nearby. If so, where? But then she mentioned she didn’t have a pack yet. Pie chewed lightly at her lower lip.

There’s an expectant mother in a pack northeast of here, she posited, yellow eyes lifting to the distant Sunspires. I’m sure she would appreciate such a gift. Her name is @Pala.

She could provide more detail, should Periane show any interest. For now, Tiuttuk fell quiet, pondering the words “not yet.” Something told her the woman wasn’t in any particular rush to find a home.

it would be a marvelous gift, periane said softly, the curve of her mouth thoughtful, touched by something reverent. her gaze drifted to where the sunspires rose like watchful gods in the distance, bathed in pale gold.
will you give it to her?
she looked back to tiuttuk then, eyes warm. there was no pressure in her voice—only the quiet gravity of offering something sacred. this is how it begins, her gaze seemed to say. small acts. small lights. carried from hand to hand.
perhaps it is not mine to give, she added gently, but yours.

Periane embraced the lead. She looked to the same mountains as Pie prepared to issue more detailed directions. She would tell the gift-bearer exactly where to find the entrance to the vale.

The question caught her by surprise, her open mouth clapping shut and then reopening on silent air. Yes, she supposed she could take it back to Moonspear and keep it safe until she had an opportunity to deliver it to Pala.

I’ll be sure to give you credit when I give it to her, Treepie assured, dipping her head in thanks. She and I spoke of an alliance. This pelt could very well seal it.

Her yellow gaze drifted to the drying fur, gleaming and fragrant. She imagined Pala’s face when she presented such a gift to the new mother. Already, she felt excitement and even a little impatience stirring deep in her gut as she pondered the timing and other logistics of such a trip.

But she must mull over these things later, she reminded herself with a blink. Treepie gazed at Periane, admiring the woman who would give away so much time and effort to an unseen, unknown stranger. It was unbelievably generous.

Thank you, didn’t seem like enough.

periane rose, her limbs unfolding with gentle ease. she nudged the pelt forward with her muzzle, the gesture quiet and certain, her smile soft.
it was a pleasure, tiuttuk, she said simply.
then, with a final dip of her head, she turned. no need for ceremony. her shape slipped away into the light, quiet as prayer—leaving behind only the gift, and the warmth of something unspoken.

exit periane: thank you for the thread!!

Within another moment, Periane rose and left, bidding her farewell and leaving the pelt there to claim. Though she wished she would’ve stayed a while longer, Pie only murmured more words of gratitude as the woman departed. She wondered if she would ever see her again.

Her attention soon turned to the fur. She reached out and gently ran a paw over it. It was still quite damp. Tiuttuk gently plucked a few crumpled petals from the strands and then sat back on her haunches.

She’d only just gotten here and was in no hurry to return, despite the dread which loomed. Treepie would sit here and let the pelt dry, enjoying the peace and quiet of the lakeside.