Wapun Meadow down to sit at the harsh world's feet

Inkeri would have assured him further if he needed it. She had no maliciousness in her. When she really should have. Given her life. She should have been bitter and mean.

She tilted her head, ears forward and back. She followed, with a small laugh. Okay you show. Show.

She hadn't ever played with snow drifts that she recalled. But perhaps when she had been little. Her and Anja may have played.

A small frown on her lips as she tried to place a face. I do not know that one yet. Yet. She must be new. Bjarna or Gunnar would have brought her in. In. Is she nice? Nice?

She looked at his gaze, aquamarine eyes meeting his own, wondering at his answer. He hoped she was.