Neverwinter Forest doesn't matter anymore if what we say is true

the guttural chuff and question that kivaluk, dour mood souring with a frown etching itself into the lines of his face, took to be a demand settles like a brewing storm in kivaluk's chest.

kingullimik draws in a breath; contemplating.

not answering.

chasing off.

silverbound gaze settles upon the stranger, taking her colors: earthen in nature, and a bit of varying shades of coffee. warm. the only warmth on kivaluk was the red markings he bore.

sakhmet's influence on what would otherwise be stony colors of kigipigak's homeland.

of the qeya river, even.

who's asking? comes his retort; an unfair manifestation of his mood which he understood had nothing to do with her. unfortunately, she was the unlucky winner to catch the sting of it.