Moonspear no, we don't hide when it rains now

The old man, now known to Slaney as Njord, called him forth today. Emerging from his makeshift den — ulaq, was the word for them — and stretching his rawboned limbs in a bow, he ushers himself southwest through the path Sialuk had taught him.
Upon arrival, there appeared two others he had yet to meet officially, and the call of another not far away. His lip curls into a polite smile, eyes flickering from the tall soot-pelted man to the young dappled girl. They greet each other, and Slaney instead drifts to the back of the gathering; watching, waiting, eager.