Bearclaw Valley valkyrie

The doe wakes in the early morning, groggy but with purpose in her step. She exits her den into the territory, bathed in the light of the rising sun.

However her step is slowed when she spots a strange sight: a raven perched upon the shoulders of a woman. She smells of Bearclaw, but they are yet to meet.

Milan notes the distance in the other's stare; it is familiar to her. A clear sign of a troubled mind. Paws carrying her forward, she lowers her head in her approach. Are you alright? She speaks in a gentle tone, one that comes naturally to her.

We are yet to meet. My name is Milan. She offers her name in hopes that it will provide some comfort.