Wapun Meadow amappo

the bearwolves had a lot of strange habits.
if athalia had the language for it, she would likely describe ancelin as a bit paranoid. there were always lessons to be learned, things to be explained to her. she took very little interest in it, typically, but it seemed to make him happy, and so she went along with him if it meant he would sing her praises.
she trails along a pace behind him, hopping through ice-caked snow and bobbing her head contentedly. she enjoyed these nature walks, if anything; it got her to stretch her legs, and stretching her legs meant better sleep. she only wished the birds were here with her.
ancelin grumbles something about a bad guy. bad? athalia crows back at him, ears swiveled forward in some form of intrigue. how bad? had he met him?