Wapun Meadow stress lines and cigarettes

not much else to do when you don't stay anywhere long.

the words wearied her. men and women alike would be accepted into the valley if they had some sort of skillset, especially with the nearing of the spring and the prospect of women bringing forth children, of which nanuralaaq hoped herself a place amongst such a clique, but the latter half of his sentence irked her ; was he avoidant, did he run? or was he an outlaw, a fugitive? nonetheless, she would continue: why do you not stay?

movement on the horizon prompted the snowwoman to kick her arms and legs into a canter. she cared not for if the buck spotted them, for the thickening snow would be difficult to traverse for such skinny, breakable legs. the powerful strides that made up a wolves movement, or, at least, hers, was easily resistant to the snow, and so she streamed on forwards, moving with a grace that was telling of her homeland ; once loved.

if you can hunt, patrol, walk, bearclaw valley will take you. but, you must also be respectful, but you do not seem to be impolite. you would do fine amongst the ranks, as long as you can get your maw bloody. now, nanuralaaq did not look at him when she spoke. instead, she pushed on forwards to the now weary buck.

it scanned the meadow that they sauntered on ever so confidently ; for they were the rulers of this domain. the huntress wetted her black lips ; hungry.