Whitebark Stream I cut my bangs with some rusty kitchen scissors

"Oh, Meerkat! Yeah! She's good people," Lane chirped, her eyes lighting with recognition. She waded into the shallows of the stream, drawing nearer to her company. "We've been packmates twice now, each time in different packs," she noted. Both she and Meerkat had marveled at the coincidence. 

The man gave his name, and Lane emitted a disbelieving huff. "You northerners and your names! I'll never get them all straight. Do you know Kukutux? Or Kigipigik?" Whoever decided that three, four, and five syllables of nonsense was suitable for a name ought to have been culled. It had not yet occurred to Lane that these names could have meaning in another language-- she was convinced that they existed only to torture her.