Whitefish River and the ships are left to rust

her gaze remained on the buck as the ivory woman slid near, pressing herself low into the shadows. "aurëwen." she breathed, ears tilted towards the woman. but she was not the only being to join the group in the glade; a gentle rustling of undergrowth, and a doe stepped towards the stag, who accepted it with a brief glance. 

"are you a hunter?" she wondered softly, words little more than a breeze as she breathed them through maw only slightly agape. she did not wish to drudge back the heavy things, the words they'd exchanged on the mountain, those lost. the small details. the deer before them. the hunt that would, one day, come.