give my heart a place to rest

Eighty-six degrees, but there were fortunately clouds. Still. Tonravik looked at that very moment like the devil himself must have when cast down from his place in the heavens and into the rancid pits of hell. How miserable her countenance was. Her vaguely unimpressed demeanor shifted into another trademark expression of hers, though it had melted there quite without intent. As she kept to the shade to escape the heat of the day, there she lurked with her perpetual grimace that spoke: I hate. She was inclined to find Nellayok and nap, and her course changed in that direction. When the day cooled into midafternoon, she could live life again.

The bear of a wolf sniffed at the air absently, and the scent of the wolf who wore the colors of the wolverines she had brought into the fold caused her path to alter some. He was on the way, in the crosshairs of her path, and she would see that he was well before going into her morning-long hibernation.