Dawnlark Plains Stop, what the hell are you talking about?

Kigipigak watched a figure moving across the plains. He had spent a day investigating the forested rise attached to the willow thicket and found it eerily empty and that left him wanting. Knowing he could not range too far from Stjornuati without inciting anger—or potentially being booted from the Watch before it could properly take root upon the mountain—meant that Kigipigak had to be careful with how far he roamed. Today, with the sun cresting in the sky at an angle that made him squint, he was loitering upon the plains—and he was not alone.

He had watched her for a while, mostly intrigued by the distracted manner of her pace. It was as if she could not make up her mind to stay or to go, or in which direction to go, which was a feeling he knew well from his entry to the Wilds. As Kigipigak watched he drew a little bit closer, the wind in his favor, until he saw that they had stopped. Their dark shape crumpled against the still-glittering bits of frosted grass, something in their muzzle springing free and landing softly nearby.

Kigipigak did not know what to do. The woman looked to be in pain and he was no medic, not of the body nor the mind, and he was not exactly a forgiving creature; she was showing a level of weakness he was not accustomed to seeing.

He gave her a few minutes to wallow, and then called out to her: I do not mean to intrude—are you... do you want, company? But even as he said this Kigipigak had turned his eyes away, knowing somehow as the words took form that they were the wrong thing to offer. A stupid question, ah, I am sorry to intrude. I will.. go.