Moonsong Glacier through the fog of an early morn

That word she used — conclave. Dutch felt strange every time she said it, but he could not name any particular reason why. Perhaps it was just that he was getting a better picture of what her life had looked like as time went on, and conclave, like cave was beginning to sound like a place that was dark and cold, and quite probably filled with unknown danger.

"This one was, too," he said when he felt prompted. "With her conclave. But it was a brown bear." His shifted his hip to indicate which 'one' he was talking about. He had not told anyone in detail how he had become so injured, but it had been made known to those in the healing camp that it was a bear's claws that'd scored him.

He tried to settle once more, but the pain was just annoying enough to keep him from fully relaxing. He gazed out into the snowy woodland instead.

"It hurts like ice," he told her, poorly and belatedly connecting his question to his inland empire.