Bearclaw Valley saw death on a sunny snow

she works, toiling, almost, to massage the crusted coyote-blood from his thick pelt. the moisture that lingered within the snow was what made it so useful, and she rather the man beneath her rest before he went to take a trip to the lake for a bath. if i do not fuss over you, who will? arctic lass smiled, a short breath leaving her dark lips.

the snowwoman gave a sigh as he breathed in her scent, leaning into his touch.

it is all i can do for you, nanuralaaq replied to his thanks. lest i punish the other coyotes. but you already did that, did you not? curious. he did not seem the type to let anyone or anything get away, but he did not necessarily seem to partake in mindless violence, either. a flick of her tail marked a silent curiosity, though she would not question further, instead focusing on packing a layer of snow onto his wounds.

she would give the same explanation she had with cole, the words leaving her maw in melodic cadence, as if practice, refined: snow on the wounds will prevent inflammation, rala begun. keeps them cool ; acts as a barrier between skin and airbone disease. moisture in snow removes the dry blood. reapplied two more times from now, and then wash in the lake. in a few days, you should be better.

the snowbird was careful, now, as she pressed against his wounds.

a frown crossed her face. i hate seeing you hurt.