Whitebark Stream I'll send a postcard to you, dear

The wolves gave little information bar their occupation - caribou hunters. Yuralria thought back to Rala, was she one too? Her mind swam as they offered her a place among them, an escape. Had this been any number of moons ago, she would have vehemently refused, but now instead she gazed at the first woman with a mixture of intrigue and regret.

They praised her courage, smiled at her victory against the frigid currents, and although her escapade had been little more than an accident, the girl felt warmth bloom in her chest. Her? Yuralria, moondoe's daughter, a caribou hunter? It was oddly poetic.

"I know how to hunt them," Tiny icicles had begun to form where rivulets dripped from her stomach, her reply swift and seeking. "And I know how to skin them. Prepare pelts, dry meat - you name it." Was this what they wanted? The urge for warmth was overwhelming and served only to hasten her decision.