Duck Lake you're the prayer inside me

again, she would say: rala is fine, a brief nod of her head, though her eyes sparkled with an amusement that often came when strangers butchered her arctic birthright. tail swayed behind her, now, the smell of the duck prompting saliva to pool in her mouth, though she swallowed it down, refusing to eat until the other did. a manner of respect.

cole, polar-cub noted, giving a soft hum. a simple name, but one that she would process and memorise all the same. he was of bearclaw valley, a pack she had not heard of before. coming to think of it, she had hardly heard of any other packs in the area, although she had smelled their group scents, their territory markings. so, she thought to ask: the other packs around here? their names? a flick of her tail.

little cub, the echoes of the words left her maw accompanied by a breathy, lilting laugh, black lips forming a smile that seemed almost permanently etched into her face. i share name with cub of polar bear, not skillset, her sentence was simple, but it carried a deeper, heavier weight that spoke of her skills, her capabilities ; lacking ego.

then, curiosity seemed to wash over the woman's face.

bearclaw valley, you said. they good? food, protection?