The Bracken Woods blood thorns [m]

cen was in a better mood today, it seemed. in the morning when red leaf roused, she buzzed with a comfortable numbness beside him; yesterday was little more than a blur, and it took her a good moment to remember where she was.
she spent her afternoon sitting beside him in silence, stripping meat from bone and tenderizing it so that it may be preserved. it was a slow, tedious process, but with only the two of them, the meat must last. there would not be much to hunt on their own until calving season came upon the wilds.
after a while, cen took up the task of removing teeth from the skull. they were for her. she hums at the sight of the pile and thanks him with a curl of her lip. she would make use of them; perhaps they could be stewed with other bones, or — she could —
when her husband removes himself to head for the frozen creek, red leaf tucks two of the caribou teeth underneath her bedfur while his eyes are turned. surely they would not be missed by him. surely the spirits know what she will do with them.
red leaf is behind him by a few minutes, waiting until he is already settled in the icebath before she disturbs him. i will bathe you, she titters in broken lanzadoii. you must be tired after yesterday's hunt.