Wapun Meadow forgo the parable

nanuralaaq was quick to shake her head: only spoiled if you do not appreciate what you have ; everyone has ... different situations, does not make one better or worse, unless blatand disregard for the things we are given, a careful roll of her shoulders, watching ameline track their prey. she, too, would drink in the scents.

seal, well ... it is salty, fatty, too. some, little bit sweet, depending on where they swim. others, almost like ox, like ... eh, bison meat. really depends on what part of sea they are from. many come to gather on our shores. some, too, very oily. their skins make good pouches for carrying water long distances, a knowledgeable tone.

with a hum, then, she said: but many do not come straight to the shore ; they are loud, blubbering creatures, but they are also intelligent, and so they know wolves will come to eat them if they dare to come too close. instead, they lay upon nattiup iglinga, a slab of thick, slippery ice that is only safe in the highest of winters. it is where children are tested for their hunting skills, and where they earn their names, nanuralaaq took a breath ; once a snowflake, now a polar bear.

shallow tracks drew her forwards, now. they were faint upon the snow, but ever-present nonetheless. snowwoman gave a flick of her tail. look here, regina, a nod.