Dawnlark Plains you're a poem of mystery,

rabbit scent came towards her, now, followed by the blood-smell of a kill. rala's ears rose, then, searching for the sound of snow crunching underfoot, for she became innately, instinctively aware that she was no longer alone. fur stood on end, as if slowly puffing up to make the polar-cub appear larger. melody lost to the wind.

words met her ears, then, and she turned in a simple, quick movement, albeit not without a moment of hesitation. words she did not know, though vaguely familiar, near, now, in presence, though far away in memory, as if heard in passing. it was in common that she would speak, for if this man knew the tongue of her song, he would have spoken it. i do not speak your words, she would murmur, ultimately deciding to draw closer.

snow-dipped paws were careful upon the crunching carpet, navigating with a learnt ease. she approached somewhat tentatively, however. although not shy, she did not know this man, nor the scent of a stranger that stuck to his pelt like burrs. for she, too, was guarded, and although she did not have all that much to lose, she still had her life.

his pelt reminded her of a distant past ; of kurauviatu man. she assessed his dark hairs with care, though the blonde and cream hues that painted his sizeable body - of which she studied with little shame - gave her a sense of relief. that, and the confidence that exuded from the way in which he stood. this man was not a coward, that much she knew to be true. well-worn, she thought. pale eyes would flicker to his own, curious.

you are from around here, aallajuq? a hum accompanied her words.