Qeya River Invites, Trades and Caribou

a man. at qeya's border. again.
perhaps it was the seclusion of the qeya which made wren grow accustomed to she and her family's little sanctuary, or perhaps it was the fact that diplomacy was much easier when one did not have young children to protect, but wren's approach is rather abrasive; her fur bristles and she dons a hard scowl of suspicion.
silvertongue was naturally better at this sort of thing, between the two of them.
i'm the wife, came wren's rather monotonous greeting statement, followed by an inquisitive glance down at the pelt which rested at the stranger's feet. a group hunt? her gaze cuts over to her wife in an effort to gauge how she felt about this, if she trusted this mystery offer.