Deepwood Weald [m] red flax

Dutch could not hide his adoration for the woman beside him, and he did not have any mind to try. So he could not blame this man too much for the way that he looked at his wife. This was what he told himself, anyway, even as his blood began to pound. He very nearly spat an order for the stranger to keep his eyes where they belonged, lest Dutch be forced to remove them — and then he could only feel grateful when the man spoke, giving him a moment to talk himself down from the sharp spike of fury.

There was a dissatisfied furrow to the panther's brow while he listened, attentive to every word despite not knowing the language. His tone seemed clear enough, and Dutch exchanged a quiet look with the seal hunter, assessing his body language and expression.

A translation was offered. It crawled all over him, and the fur along his spine prickled tellingly.

He looked down at Simbelmyne's face to see what she made of this, and then quickly back to the two men.

"Sulukinak is family to me," he said, his tone even, but only through the sort of restraint that made his words slow. "If he wants her to go with him, then he will have to talk to her about that. I do not want her to go, but I will not stand in her way."

He glanced up and around, past the two men and into the darker reaches of the woods. He did not see Sulukinak, but he was sure she was near, or else drawing near. That she did not come out of hiding spoke volumes to him — but he was unsure, as ever, if he knew exactly what was being said.