Bearclaw Valley needlework and seedlings,

and his scars did not go unnoticed. such an attribute only developed her perception of the man, a standard of beauty, a personal taste that she held close to her chest. rala did not bear any obvious scars of her own, aside from the thin ones below her furs ; she was somewhat envious of those who had been marked by their tales.

listening, now, with a perk of pale ears that swivelled forwards to listen, her eyes remained locked upon his own as he spoke. a true keeper of eye-contact, not one to look away. the sun, slowly, continued its' descent, and so his eyes gradually lost the emerald glow, eventually returning to what she assumed to be their usual hazel state.

'don't know about friends'?, snowwoman echoed, humming after he spoke of friendships taking more than a few weeks to build. curiously, she said: that is how long you have been here for? few weeks? a judgeless tone, no accusation nor disbelief, simply wishing to further understand her packmates. the man that would be sleeping only a few ways away from her. she wanted to be confident that he would not kill her in the night - and so far, he seemed alright. stable, at the very least. simply, a man.

whether or not her questions brought answers, she would stand to guide the man. together, they would travel to the densite, although the hollow she had dug for herself may be further away from that of tvar's. wondering, with a sort of vagueness, where he would place his den, how he would decorate it, or keep it warm this winter.

such an angutiup angutinga, polar-cub teased, taking an obvious pleasure in the fact that he could not understand nor translate her arctic words. should he allow the touch, she would flick her tail towards his rump, although keeping her head down, only giving him a sidelong glance. humming, then, she said: you find any pretty woman in the valley? around, maybe? perhaps she could seek one out, herself. a smile.