Deepwood Weald arctocephalus

She was an odd girl, wide-eyed and fey. He might have been given to wonder if she was a spirit herself, except he sensed instead a childish sort of stoicism. Dissociation he might have called it, if he had known such a term. He had a physical reaction to the instinctive and yet unnatural stillness of the girl — his stomach clenched and his throat felt tight. He wanted to speak to whoever had been in charge of the girl's care, or whoever should have been in charge, at least. And yet, she was a woman grown, able-bodied and apparently independent. Part of Dutch knew that she was past the need for someone to fuss over her, but a larger part felt he was now being given the opportunity to correct this oversight.

"I am pleased to meet you, Sulukinak," he said, and his tone and expression were serious; he meant it, and he hoped he could convey that properly.

He sat, hoping it might help her relax.

"There is a glacier to the east of this place, across a wide open field. The village rests in the mountainside. We are lead by young cloudwoman, Ariadne. She is a sweet girl — your age. Strong hunters protect her. Myself, and the man Kaluktuk, and two who are very quiet. And there is the young healer, Aminthe, and the shield-maiden Tulugak."

He couldn't tell if she was shy or timid or merely thoughtful, but were their positions reversed, he thought he would've liked to know what sort of place he was being invited to. And, speaking of inviting —

"They would all welcome you with kindness," he said, and he made his tone lighter to say this; their kindness was nothing special; he hoped she would receive it anywhere she went. "If you wanted to visit, or to stay."