Bearclaw Valley rites of passage

shaken head was given as response, and so rala would nod and take a seat, nudging at the hare as to find a suitable piece to begin eating. her head, tilted towards the stranger, though her eyes remained on the rabbit as she spoke: i am ... rala, a name that stung when she held back the title that she had earned, though there seemed to be many that could not quite wrap their tongue around the name nanuralaaq. she kept herself from putting them through the pain of butchering such a title.

we have yet to meet. what is your name? pale orange eyes glanced upwards, now, to those in which burned like embers against a midnight backsplash. something about her gaze was almost intimidating, as if she were studying the pale woman that sat before her. or perhaps it was her stature and her well-muscled frame that caught her eye.