Moonspear walking on broken glass

Pale eyes cast about the blandness of his den. He could scarcely call such an ulaq—for Sialuk and her people would speak this word with such reverence and warmth that the coldness of his own was unworthy to be called such.

But he lay the pelts out—grooming aside marks, and ensuring grime and tears had not marred what he had worked hard to collect in the prior months.

Stepping back out now, his eyes blinking against the sun as it highlighted the bright white snow, Argent took a moment to breathe—to tame the hammering of his heart—and certainly override what felt like the oncoming of a panic attack.