Swiftcurrent Creek Little ones

A presence lingered at the den entrance. One that did not go neglected by the argus-eyed Jökull. Squirming free of her sibling's (and her mother's) clutches, she approached the anonymous with callow steps. She was a inelegant blob, closing the distance between herself and this stranger who smelled like Tuwawi, Njal, Leaf, and many others. Jökull wondered if she would ever meet these “others,” or if they were just imaginings of her brain.

Experimentally, she barked at the entity sitting patiently at the habitation mouth. It was a sound of suspicious greeting, one she has heard her parents emit from time to time. Whoever he was, Jökull needed some verification before fully exiting the den. Her young mind could not comprehend mistrust, but she did understand instinctual dubiety.