Bitterroot Valley kiira-k ikug-luk

The way she stopped and spun on him gave rise to little emotion, as if he were made of solid clay and held no life at all. A golem.

He listened to the spilling of words and saw the way her eyes lit like emeralds as she spoke of her supersition. Aside from that part, the wolf liked what he saw.

I do not care for your spirits or your silly fears. I am a man of Tartok, we know better.

And then he laughed; the sound was a crack of dry thunder, rolling from his chest. This too did not suit him; it had been a long while from the last time he had laughed at all.

Let us go to your camp so I may eat, and be on my way. Once her debt was repayed he had no desire to linger, not when his hunters prowled after caribou without him.