Qeya River atiga

drawn by the distinctive tang of fish scent, malrok drifted from the den's mouth to where his brother and father convened with a look of mild curiosity shining in his pale eyes. the remnants of the fish drew a cursory glance, then the faces of attuaserk and their father. an air of significance permeated amid the pair, but malrok had arrived too late to hear his brother's new moniker. nor was he intrigued enough by this development to seek after an answer, not when his gaze found the offerings procured by his father.
malrok stepped toward the delightful assortment of treasures in all their myriad colors and shapes. he lingered over each of them; he traced the shape of the ivory fragment of antler, took in the faded scents of the bones, nudged the smooth river stones to separate the rarities, nosed through the feathers until the teasing tickle of them against his nostrils made him sneeze. fortunately he drew back in time to avoid scattering them.
in the end he was drawn back to the stones. he swept the three he'd chosen close to him, claiming them for his own. the stones wrought in the most unique colors and shapes, the stones whose surfaces shone with strange textures. these were the treasures he chose.