Bearclaw Valley violent disposition

snowwoman had already drawn herself from the valley by the time that the call had wrung out ; a howl, low, beating like a drum of war. it called the polar cub forwards ; meant for her, only her, and so she moved without reluctance, paws carrying her in haste. the scent of blood, metallic and fresh, guided her, wearied her ; it smelled of winslet.

now she moved faster, fasterfasterfaster. she was but a scrawny thing, that winslet. thin-boned, delicate, like a bird. flightless ; grounded ; bleeding. she could smell it. she could know it without seeing. cole! winnie! came the shout of her light voice, alerting them of her presence, hoping to alleviate some stress. soon, whatever adrenaline that may be coursing through the thin veins of the newcomer would wear off, and the pain would grow in intensity, turning away from the shield that had been holding it back.

i am here, nanuralaaq's words came in a low murmur, gently pushing cole away so that she may adopt full access to the injured woman. the broken bodies of coyotes littered the scene, their scents thick and revolting within the already biting air ; cold. but the coats of wolves could keep them warm, and so meticulously, without thought or word, she began layering a blanket of snow upon the exposed flesh. gentle motions.

and then when she spoke, her tellings were of the intention to distract, to soothe, her voice akin to a mother calming her weeping whelp. the snow will sting, but it will calm inflammation and soothe. it will be a barrier between the injury and the air, so that you do not get infected. winslet, listen to me: you will be okay. i will ensure it.

nanuralaaq looked to cole, then. do you know what poppy seeds look like?