The Heartwood this skin is tainted by wasted days

praimfaya realizes as she nears the heartwood that she will find no prey here. it is a wasteland. charred stumps and ash that lingers on the scarred earthen floor, on the bottoms of the charred stumps is almost confused for snow. she doesn't think she's ever seen fire before but it is evident that something tragic occurred. further evidenced by the gut feeling that no life would remain here. only fools such as herself, driven by the famine, by the wont to feed her kru would come here in a desperate attempt to find a migrating herd.

there are still none to be found.

and, though praimfaya knows the heartwood will offer her nothing she does not fancy traversing all the way around it to get to the next territory. with the greying sky of an overcast morning to guide her she begins her slow trek thru the ruins, still hopeful enough to keep an eye out for any tracks she might happen upon.

she forges out from the wood early that morning, for the first time feeling confined by the borders. she'd never set out from them save to hunt, and even that was rare enough. but recently, it is idle interest that propels her outward, a kind of desire to be unconstrained and roving that she can not quite place. 

but her solitude does not last long; her path takes her directly into that of a girl that can not be much older than herself, one who sparks familiarity. Hela pauses, her position already given away, and regards the stranger. the aggressive one; the one she'd tried to fight only to turn tail when two older males had appeared. "you're the roangeda girl." she states. she appears to be well and truly alone this time, and while Hela (for once) is in no mood to incite a fight immediately, she is ever willing to should the right circumstance arise.

it is not long before praimfaya finds herself in the company of another, though it is minutely surprising, she is quick to re-school her features into impassiveness. she recognizes the other, as she is in turn recognized. their last meeting hadn't gone well and this time, praimfaya is forever absent the presence of her father but also feels the temporary absent of her seda and setnes. at near seven months of age, however — and despite their possible protests otherwise — she doesn't feel the need to constantly have a guard. though her standings with the nightwalkers is still largely left to be determined she doesn't presently feel like they are a threat to her kru; and more immediately, this meeting seems to be starting off on a better foot than their last.

that's right, praimfaya replies. and you're that nightwalker girl. she points out with a lilt to her voice that she hopes communicates that she is teasing. after all, it wasn't as if names had been exchanged ( at least, mochi doesn't think ). i'm praimfaya. she offers the tentative olive branch, awaiting the other girl's reaction.

the girl is coming to learn, now, that there is nothing to gain with constant aggression save isolation and enemies. tact, communication, and diplomacy are proving difficult to learn; her default remains fangs and hackles. and yet, she is learning. the girl names her as a nightwalker; it is strange to be called such for the first time. 

"i am hela melonii." she offers in return, accepting the girl's offering of a truce. she regards the girl a moment longer, somewhat unsure. faced with an actual conversation, with a stranger, she does not know how to conduct herself. "what does it mean? roangeda." blackfeather was self-explanatory. moonspear, nightwalkers too. but the girl, and her pack, are a mystery to her, and the girl hates uncertainty.

hela melonii.

though she suspects the addition of a sirename should spark some recognition or reaction within her, it doesn't; aside from, perhaps, the consideration that maybe she, too, should take up adding 'eyjolfur' onto her own. it was all she had left of her father now, after all. it is taken from our territory's name, praimfaya offers and then goes onto explain, 'ro' from 'broken', 'an' from antler; and geda roughly translates to 'place' in my native tongue. ok, so maybe trig wasn't her native, native tongue. both common and trig had been her main languages since she was old enough to start to hear and understand.

but, it was no secret she prefers trig to common ( not unlike her mother before her ). it is how we name our clans. she says with a small shrug of her shoulder, hoping to communicate that she isn't sure why it's that way only that it is and it wasn't her place to question the history behind that particular tradition.