Duck Lake you're the prayer inside me

looking for some bearclaw wolves to recruit herr!! <3

tags for mention

perhaps a hunter trade thread ?

further south she goes - travelling from wetlands, back to plains, and when she had not found @Faust or any familiar faces, she continued on her typical path. now, though, growing thirsty and desperate from some clean water - rather than the marsh she had passed on the way here - the snowwoman stopped at the local lake. clear, deep waters luring her in like a siren's song. like the oceans' kiss. she brought herself closer.

neck craning downwards, snow-dipped paws at the rim of the drifting blue water, she took in gentle sips, tail swaying low by her hocks. the calls and bellows of ducks up ahead garnered a rumble from her stomach, but she was not confident in her abilities to hunt water-birds. ungulates, such as caribou or ox or deer, she had full faith in herself. otherwise, she would leave the birds up to the tingmiasuktiit peoples. kurauviatu.

but even though she wished not to exert energy towards a fruitless hunt, especially when she was already hungry, she could not avoid the fact that she was tempted. even an attempt, the smallest practice could increase her abilities ; if she were to be a huntress, she must know to hunt all sorts of game, should she not? rala huffed out a sigh.

then, moving away from the water, snowwoman tilted her head back, seeking those nearby to join her in some duck-hunting. a melodic howl echoed throughout the lands, and with the birds seemingly unbothered, all she had to do was wait. she wondered if she might see a familiar face, and a small, distant part of her hoped that @Dolce might be around. rala allowed a small smile to settle upon her features at the thought.

growing ever hungry, however, she could only hope that someone came by, and soon.

Cole's ears flicked at the sound of the howl, its melody carrying through the still air to meet his path. It wasn’t a call for him specifically, but curiosity had a way of tugging him toward unfamiliar voices.

He approached with measured steps, his large frame moving easily through the sparse cover around the lake. The scent of water and cold air was mingled faintly with hers—new, crisp, and slightly tinged with hunger. When his gaze landed on her pale figure, he stopped short, his brows lifting ever so slightly. A polar bear. That was the first thought that struck him, and it lingered as he took her in.

You called for help, darlin'? His voice carried a hint of his usual drawl, though it was softened by the stillness of the glade. His golden eyes shifted toward the flock of ducks she’d been eyeing before returning to her.

Those lil' things? Might be better t'save your energy. But, if you're set on it, I’ll humor 'ya. His tail swayed once behind him, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. Hunger or not, her attempt would be entertaining, if nothing else.

for a moment, at the sound of such a southern drawl, polar-cub almost thought it was dolce. smile wide upon her face, though it did not take long for it to rest. this man was not the scarred one she had met on her first day within these wilds, rather, it was someone else entirely. i know, she murmured, tongue decorated with an arctic cadence. though her mind urged her to reconsider, snowwoman held a stubborn streak, and once her mind was set on something, she would not surrender.

a breath was drawn, and a hopeful expression was adorned upon a pale face. she turned back to the southern man with glimmering pale eyes. ...but it is worth the attempt, her tail was high above her rump, marking her confidence in the matter, almost invigorated. almost. a distant ache within her muscles punished her for moving too far in too short of a timespan, but she was certain that if she just had faith in herself, and in this man of which she did not know the name of, she could complete this hunt.

humour laced her words, then. challenging in their demeanor: humour me, stranger.

Cole shrugged his broad shoulders, his gaze flickering briefly to the pale, determined woman before shifting to the horizon. The drawl in her voice was faint, but enough to pique his curiosity. She didn’t seem the type to back down, her stubbornness evident in the way she stood—confident, almost defiant.

All righ', then, he replied, his voice low and even, the faintest trace of amusement curling at the edge of his words. His sharp amber eyes met hers, assessing her resolve. If she was so set on proving herself, he wasn’t going to argue.

He adjusted his stance, the muscles along his frame coiling with readiness as he turned his attention to the open expanse before them. The snow was fresh, undisturbed save for the faint trails left by prey.

Let’s see what you’ve got, cub, he added, a slight smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. Without waiting for a reply, he began to move, his steps measured and deliberate, the hunt already in motion.

small sheets of ice lingered within the lake, rala noticed, as if the water had made an attempt at freezing over, only to be disturbed by the residents. unfortunately for her, though, and the water-diver lineage that coursed within her veins, this ice would be far too thin to walk across, and so she abandoned the thought quickly as she begun to move.

it would be visible to the man ; the way her thoughts came and went like turning cogs within her mind, strategizing, maneuvering with careful muscles that were toned, well-used beneath her plush pelt. the way in which she looked like a cotton ball could result in a deceiving appearance, distracting from her true nature as an ox huntress. ducks, however? well ... they were not her strong-suit, but what mattered most was that she was head-strong, a stubborn woman who would show these ducks who was master, not out of pride, but rather a dedication, a commemoration to those who had come before her.

and so she moved with lynx-like prowess, watching as one of the birds gently drifted towards the rim of the lake, towards a patch of snowless tall grass. male, by its colours and its curled tail, making an attempt towards the female, by its dullness and its loud calling-quacks. it would be almost humorous, should one (or, both, depending on the mans skillset) not become her meal. already she was wracked with hunger, so she treaded with care, steps precise, that of a hunter. eyes locked upon her prey. hungry.

powerful backlegs pushed her forwards, then, sprinting towards the poorly hidden hen. her jaws, snapping, would reach for the bird. snowwoman counted on sunlit man of oak to come to her aid, should the duck escape her range. a huntress's grasp.

Cole moved in quiet parallel to the woman, his emerald eyes tracking her deliberate, measured steps. She was skilled, that much was clear—a huntress born of discipline and purpose. The way she moved through the grass, her pale figure blending into the snow-dappled landscape, was a sight worth admiring. But he didn’t linger too long on her grace; he had his own target.

The sharp quacks of the ducks echoed softly across the water, mingling with the occasional rustle of reeds. Cole’s gaze locked onto a drake that had drifted just far enough from the group to be vulnerable. Its iridescent green head gleamed under the muted sunlight as it dipped its bill into the water, oblivious to the danger.

Dropping low, he crept forward with practiced ease, his movements steady and deliberate. When the moment came, he surged forward, snow and grass crunching beneath his weight. The duck flapped its wings in a frantic attempt to escape, but it was too late—his jaws snapped shut around its body, the satisfying weight of his catch solid in his grasp.

Lifting his head, Cole turned back toward the polar cub, his tail giving a single wag of triumph. He padded toward her, the duck held firmly in his jaws, its glossy plumage ruffled and askew.

Not bad for a first hunt together, he remarked lightly once he’d dropped the duck at her feet. His tone was relaxed, but there was a glint of approval in his eyes.

jaws had snapped with ease around the long neck of the hen. it was with a sharp mercy that she took its life, padding back to the oaken man and similarly dropping her catch. two ducks - a fine meal, one that she had not indulged in before. only a mere scent gathered from the bird-hunters ; otherwise, she found herself sustained on hare, caribou, and, on special occasion, seal. river otter, too, when closer to the streams of the ocean.

not bad, at all, rala replied, her grin wide while she spoke, pushing upon her pale cheeks, warmth glowing from within them. blood coursed through her body, both exhilarant and heating. a distant ache ebbed within her, though she would push it to the back of her thoughts, now. glint of approval would not go unnoticed - for she would match it with her own, a sidewards nod of her head, towards her left shoulder.

words left her again, melodic in their cadence, as if song were permanently etched within her throat, a strain of her culture that she simply could not abandon, whether she wanted to or not. although, she quite liked having something to hold on to - her tales, her dances, her songs, and more importantly, her name: i am nanuralaaq, she said, then. her name carried a weight, a tone that spoke of what she had done, what she had survived, to earn such a title. in my tongue, it means cub of polar bear. pale ; protected.

a single sweep of an assessing gaze brought another sentence flowing from her tongue. we hunt together, and so you may call me rala. a faith i put within you, a firm, almost smolder, though betrayed by the playful, upward curve of her lips. do not disappoint, napaaqtut, her tail, thumping behind her, betraying her true nature. an innocence, a youth that she had yet to shed, despite what she had seen, witnessed. an almost radiant aura that glowed from within, evident, palpable. warming, perhaps.

what is your name? rala asked, then. curious. or shall you stay napaaqtut?

N-Nanuralaaq, he repeated, though his southern drawl tangled the syllables, leaving the name heavier and less melodic than intended. A low chuckle rumbled from his chest, his ears flicking in mild self-deprecation. I'll...uh, try m'best.

He shifted his weight, shaking some of the snow from his thick pelt before meeting her gaze again. I’m Cole, he introduced simply, the deep timbre of his voice as steady as the man himself. Bearclaw Valley’s where I’m from—my pack. He gestured with a slight nod of his head in the direction of the distant territory, though the name itself carried the weight of a place firmly rooted in his identity.

You did good with that duck, he added after a beat, nudging her catch lightly with his paw. For a lil cub. There was a teasing warmth in his tone, his green eyes bright with humor as he glanced back at her.

again, she would say: rala is fine, a brief nod of her head, though her eyes sparkled with an amusement that often came when strangers butchered her arctic birthright. tail swayed behind her, now, the smell of the duck prompting saliva to pool in her mouth, though she swallowed it down, refusing to eat until the other did. a manner of respect.

cole, polar-cub noted, giving a soft hum. a simple name, but one that she would process and memorise all the same. he was of bearclaw valley, a pack she had not heard of before. coming to think of it, she had hardly heard of any other packs in the area, although she had smelled their group scents, their territory markings. so, she thought to ask: the other packs around here? their names? a flick of her tail.

little cub, the echoes of the words left her maw accompanied by a breathy, lilting laugh, black lips forming a smile that seemed almost permanently etched into her face. i share name with cub of polar bear, not skillset, her sentence was simple, but it carried a deeper, heavier weight that spoke of her skills, her capabilities ; lacking ego.

then, curiosity seemed to wash over the woman's face.

bearclaw valley, you said. they good? food, protection?

ah. Cole was gettin' far too old to hear these wolves speak now. Who's he kidding, he's rather in his prime! Maybe he should ask Milan about that.

Other packs? Cole tsked, turning his head as he recalled the neighboring landmarks that surrounded the valley. Swiftcurrent Creek is 'round the corner... but, was that it? He was pretty sure. Oh, wait— And Kvarsheim.

That was all he knew of. Hopefully he could've been helpful. One thing about this woman that he noticed, she was always smilin'. What a weird trait to have. For Cole, he always had a frown. He digressed, putting a paw up in feigning admonishment. I believe 'ya.

His ears perked at the question. Food. Protection. All shit he was rather good at. At least, he so thought. He thought of lil' Anatolia and Nephele's other daughter. He thinks of Towhee Jr.

Yeah. More than enough. He gestured to the duck at his feet. 's cold out here. Y'want me to introduce 'ya?

swiftcurrent creek and kvarsheim, another mental note, tail tapping against the ground in a soft, melodic manner as she sorted the packs into the back of her mind, compartmentalising them. a chuckle when he confirmed that he believed her.

brows raised momentarily, then, when he asked if she would like to be introduced. to the bearclaw valley wolves, she guessed. for a moment, she was uncertain, but finding allegiance within a group of wolves who seemed to have at least one good member surely did not have many downsides, right? giving a nod that carried a sense of finality, a decision had been made, and she said: yes. lead the way, cole.

feel free to fade with your next <3

With a pleased huff, Cole began to pivot on his foot. This woman, polar bear lady, Rala, may be a good addition. If she can provide a multitude of tasks, the winter will not be so foreboding.

Cole sought out Ameline next, or Ancelin, if he had the time. He would check over his shoulder routinely to make sure the frostbidden woman was still there.