Phoenix Maplewood maybe I can drown

The confection of buttercream glances up as he approaches, stilled in her efforts of yanking her appendage free by his nearness and the question he poses to her in concern -- or maybe just well intentions. He does not laugh but she does, seeing the repressed mirth in the winter snap of his frozen optics -- too warm to be completely brumal. A smile, equal parts embarrassment and humor curls her lips as a few chuckles leave her. "Imaq not hurt. Uimmâlappuk," she gestured to the way she had fallen in such an ungainly matter with a chortle, not having a word for her sheepishness in the kulliak-pelted male's tongue. 

With a last, harsh tug -- wanting to free herself before the wounded man felt a need to assist and hurt himself further -- she wrenched her paw free and gave it a small flex before testing her weight on it. There were a few droplets of blood where the ice had cut her but she had suffered much worse before, a few small scratches wouldn't stop her. 

Her gaze moved to him then, lips curling in a wry grin. Then they slid past him to a nearby maple shining with an abundance of sticky sap. "Food," Imaq laughed, padding past him -- hoping the stygian male would follow. We try it my way now, the medicine woman's lacking prose seemed to imply impishly as she led him over to the tree. It wasn't like they could catch anything to fill their bellies now. 

The woman reared back on her hindlegs and made short work of prying away a sticky chunk of congealed syrup before laying it on the ground between them -- waiting to see if he would actually sample her meager offerings. It was not much but it made her feel slightly better, satiating the training her Anânaks had instilled to provide food and comfort -- even if Wintersbane was not hers to provide for. She felt she owed him something for what he had given, a place amongst his own people.