Dawnlark Plains From the scars on my arms

Her eyes were wary as they settled upon the stranger. She knew that the snow woman was right, but trust was not Calfuray's strong-suit; and yet she signaled her forward. You bite, I kill. Not a threat, but a promise.

She gave a careful sniff to her wound, the stink of the wolverine still harsh within it. You know how to care for wounds, then? So long as she knew more than Calfuray, what was what mattered.

Eyes lifted to check the surrounding tree lines, ensuring that this girl had brought nobody with her.