Bitterroot Valley you give out the glory of heaven, you give out the pain that is hell.

though old enough to participate in the conception of what would come from the season upon them and knowledgeable enough to understand what happens to concieve — gelipnir approaches the whole thing with disinterest; unaffected by the intoxicating perfume given off by, mainly, pack females. his and his valkyrie's seclusion in the glacial region of the north where no packs have yet made their home ( at least as far as he can tell ) shields him from it ...though he senses it, like some primal vibration to the marrow of his bones; most days he is too busy to pay it any mind. hunting, exploring, practicing his clumsy common which does not appear to be approving much as far as he can tell. it is not an instantaneous thing and his patience wanes more than he would care to admit to sakhmet; though he suspects she can tell when he grows frustrated with his own snails pace of learning; though the ease with which they wordlessly communicate makes gleipnir a bit lazy with his common lessons.

as long as the rust colored valkyrie can understand him is all that appears to matter to him; gleipnir is hard pressed to care about anyone else.

the rocky terrain that merges into grassland at the touch of the loamy soil of the river is covered in a fresh blanket of snow; deeper in some places than in others. studiously, singularly he tracks the scent and pawprint trail of a small fox family. he steps in their wandering trail to make it known they were being hunted in case any other loner decides to move in on his quarry. focused; gleipnir does not realize that he's being hunted.

it's only when he's sprung upon does he realize his fatal error. for a split second his heart drops; at the same time his head whips around, lips curled back from his teeth, a snarl rumbling up his throat where it dies as glacial gaze locks upon the perpetrator. sakhmet. his heart races within its prison of flesh and bone then for a different reason altogether. the relief floods thru him with the heavy sigh he gives. not sneak. he half-heartedly grumbles at her. though worry floods him a second later as he realizes that he could've hurt her he is quick to assure himself that he wouldn't have even on accident.