Bearclaw Valley birds of a feather

thankfully, she is approached, though it does little to ease the anxiousness gnawing at bird-like bones. the woman is cloaked in all white, almost like a gull that flew ahead back home, and carries herself with a confidence that winslet wishes she possessed. with a nervous, flighty smile, she dips her head in respect. and thanks, as it seems the woman wished to share her kill. 

"oh, thank you. that is very kind." she murmurs, her voice as timid as she appeared, but certainly friendly. at least, she was hoping it sounded such. it felt good to be in the company of another woman; one who's kind and giving, it seems. so she relaxes a fraction, her tail swishing for a moment in what might be joy. 

"nanuralaaq. i hope i didn't butcher it too badly. it's a beautiful name." she hummed. her eyes flitted between the hare and the snow-pelted woman; she pondered if it'd be rude of her to eat in front of someone she'd just barely met. "my name is winslet. i am...new. still trying to gather my bearings, i guess." she offered with a sigh