Silver Moraine And the cracks in my hips

ah, so it was healing. scabbing over now, there seemed to be no visible sign of infection ; no inflammation, nor pus, nor obvious odor, and so nanuralaaq was pleased, heaving a soft breath, as if relieved for the good health of what was practically a stranger. and truly, she was. the snowwoman was more than relieved to learn of calfuray's betterment.

i am glad, snowwoman spoke - a humble understatement. although wolverine wound is ... less than 'little scratch', a smile upon her face, but a firmness to her words that silently instructed the injured woman to rest, if only for a moment, preferably for a few days. she then asked of how rala slept, resulting in a dry amusement.

giving a shrug of pale shoulders, she spoke: ox-hunter children spend less-than-sunny summers sleeping upon the plains, following aqqutingit and the caribou, she explained, thinking back to the thin streams that led to the ocean and drew from the lakes, leading the animals to and from throughout the muskox grounds. oftentimes snow is cold, and wet, much unlike this, a stomp from her rightward hindfoot.

the snows here were softer, more comfortable than those of her homeland.

why? you slept ... uncomfortably?