Whitefish River she fears I'll be a servant to my history

Her ears flicked backward in displeasure at the news, though it didn't particularly surprise her. "Well, damn," Quell muttered under her breath. She was saved from feeling crestfallen for too long, as the stranger drew her attention to that wilted flower and mentioned how the growths might be the first sign that the herds would return.

It made logical sense, though Q wasn't entirely certain. Most plant life went dormant over the winter, yet the herds weren't adversely affected, at least according to her leadership. Their disappearance this year was highly unusual. They all intuited it had something to do with the flood and the quake that had caused it but nobody could really say why. Maybe Quell was young and naive, though often she wondered if the herds had simply been frightened away and would eventually creep back when they decided the coast was clear.

"I hope you're right," she answered before asking, "You got a name or should I keep calling you 'hey, you, with the face'?" Despite the pointed nature of the joke, she grinned and waved her tail, hoping to put the other girl's obvious nerves to rest. There was something else that might help with that too. "And this is my homeboy, Frolic," Q introduced, turning broadside to reveal the otter seated between her scapulae.