Bitterroot Valley kiira-k ikug-luk

He could hear her alongside, clucking like a hen.

It wasn't until she spoke properly that he looked to her again and with an addled, flustered mien he huffed, My village has no name, I only hunt.

The wolf was proud of this all the same.

He grew boastful in the measured way of someone well learned in their craft: My hunters come from the far-frozen sea, as do you. You are far from home, agnak. Did you lose your husband in the snow?