Whitefish River No clouds, we shoot them out the sky

Dauntless had finally worked his way deeper into the territory, and was settling in as well as could be expected after spending so long travelling on his own. He kept waiting for things to click and have this place be his home, but he was beginning to accept that it was not quite as simple a process as it'd been to fall in love with the plateau.

But that day, he came across a sight that made him feel a little more at home. It was a smaller shewolf, apparently in the process of gathering herbs. Dauntless offered a low sound of greeting as he approached, head ducked and tail whisking near his heels. He was reminded at once of Pema, who had taken over as a mother figure for him when his own had disappeared. She, too, had been a healer -- but only after a fashion, at the encouragement of his father. Still, it was how he remembered her, and this woman was even vaguely reminiscent of the woman in stature and coloration. Dauntless wondered what had become of her.

"Hi," he said, sounding a little awkward and uncertain. "Can I help you with that?" Or with anything. He'd been hunting and leaving his kills in the caches, but only on his own. It was lonely work, and he hadn't joined a pack just so he could be lonely.