Firefly Glen time well met,

Bearclaw Valley. She tucked the name away with a small nod. Idly, she pondered the choice of name. What it could have meant or symbolized. But not every moniker required depth, it could be as plain as the words. 

Her gaze was torn from the mountains and sunrise, briefly catching Cole looking at her before the arrival of a third drew her attention. She gave her coat a brief shake. Honeyed ebony, the stranger's coat. A bit taller than herself and better built. The trait of well-fed wolves. Arnarkla had lost some of her own weight over the moons. 

Left ear flicked toward the young woman speaking. It sounded like a thick accent warbled the words. 

Cole shepherded introductions. Her head dipped when her name was given. 

Ameline— she tested the name with her own thick mountain accent— pleasure. A small, polite smile lightened her umbral face.