Duck Lake aanniqtuq ☀

It was a relief for him. He relaxed so much more, turning his face away a bit in case the woman had wanted privacy in her meal. The dark king then took time to examine the spot where he had luckily come across this gift of a wolf; he'd have to make note of it. By some sheer luck, should he go recruiting again, if he came across another of her...culture...then he'd have a bit of preparedness to fall back on. She reminded him of the Rosing's girl, one of the nearer packs that was trying to settle by one of the creeks that worked past Shadewood's font. The were neighbors, and should this woman not want much to do with him or his kind, he could bring her as some kind of 'peace treaty'. 

Wait, what? A peace treaty? What was he, some kind of fucking War Lord? A goddamn barbarian who simply traded women for politics? Cry took another breath - it seemed this woman had thrown an wrench much further and much harder thananything he expected himself to be prepared for. He was formerly a murderer for hire, working his way into packs to be worthwhile by his services and capabilities. His resume was long, bloodied and bruised. His history was scarred, and heartless. But his future was what he needed to focus on, his Family. He would try to have this woman revamped into a free spirit, not one to be tethered to another by gifts and necessities. The Keep would provide for each other - there was no bound in their woods. But should she not change, Cry would have to be concious of the consequences he would surely evoke or wrought on this situation. And he would have to be very...very...careful of what ice he walked on.

Only a swift fleet of seconds flashed by before the Phantom turned to the maiden. She had just finished the heft of her meal, and already he could nearly see the color returning to that verdant gaze. She glanced up at him, and his throat constricted as though she had kissed his cheek without his permission. Flicking his gaze to her work, he could see the carcass was neatly trimmed, a new manuever with the front incisors and deft cuts with canines that he hadn't ever considered. How she had even managed to keep them thin, seemingly weightless, baffled him. With her skills, he wondered what type of den she might make for herself, or whether the shamaness was one to have a store den of sorts, or a cavern dedicated to herself. In the full bloom of the jungle-like Shadewood, she would be able to use the entirity of the bounty to her own heed. And Cry surmised it would be awe-inspiring. 

Pulling himself from the mesmire of her invoke of thoughts, Cry nodded to Kukutux as she finished her work. "If you need any assistance, I do not mind lending aid," despite himself being clearly obsolete in her craft. But should she need an extra back in which to carry things or such, then all was fine with him. 

Turning to begin their trek back to the woods, Cry asked politely, "What lands do you come from? Your culture, what of it? You are clearly not native to Teekon."  After a heartbeat, he couraged himself up to even ask "And your name...what does it mean?"