Bitterroot Valley she had been forced into prudence in her youth,

of course! i've been dying for a mahler thread! sorry for the wait on this

Imaq tensed as the dark figure crested the horizon, recognizing his scent as male as the balmy spring breeze carried it to her -- his cologne that of loam and forests, creekwater, where hers was arctic air and glacier stream. She relaxed only as the scarred guardian ambled closer, his gait loose and welcoming of her presence, head tipping back so that aquamarine might meet pallid amethyst. Tuliped auds lifted to catch the gentle rain of his words, intrigued by his accent -- which was a distant cousin to her own.

"Jah," the she-dog lilted in agreement, offering him a smile of gratitude. She continued to be surprised by the inhabitants of these lands -- there were more here that were open to her mixed heritage than she would have thought. "Imaq," the Waterwitch introduced herself, "of Duskfire Glacier."