Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

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it was from the valley that the huntress emerged, gentle paws carrying her to the hunting grounds, the meadow, that was ruled with the protection of the bearclaw wolves. black nose jutted upwards to drink in the smells of the lands, perhaps to find something to eat, but there was a scent on the wind that was not prey ; vagabond, more like, and yet it was faintly recognisable ; someone she had met before. pawsteps quickened.

hello? came a single word, draped in arctic melodies. nanuralaaq drew in another breath. eh, nimbus? that was his name, right? she had no specific thought on him ; they were nothing more than acquaintances, but she wondered what he was doing so close to the packland. a protectiveness of the valley was what powered her strides as she came closer to the pale man. what are you doing here?