Seaside Moors my boy builds coffins with hammers and nails

Aningan could not help but to watch his packmate more closely than the stranger, uncertain; he wanted to speak with him, to clear the air, but finding the words to do so wasn’t so simple—and his unease made things even worse, anxiety building. Settling for focusing on the conversation at hand instead—anything else could wait until his mind was clear—he was about to request the woman’s name, right before it was offered. Tundra, a friend of Rosencrantz—Rose had friends beyond Rusalka? Curiosity had a way of overshadowing all else, serving as a great distraction for the worries that plagued him. There was more he wanted to ask, gazing closer at the woman now, especially when her interest in joining was expressed. “Did Rosencrantz ask you to come here?” he asked, tone easing up. If he could focus on the present, perhaps the scenarios inside his head would die out.

As his eyes swept over her form, he noted the bird poking out. “Tulugak,” he pointed out, attention drawn to the bird—birds he was familiar with, he felt most at ease when they were around. “Is he your companion?” It made him think back to the uppik, her disappearance still a mystery, yet to be solved.