Qeya River sand hollow

she had not seen him for many nights. the den of caribou hides that lay cool on his side often empty, chilled, desperate for his dark furs. or maybe it was her, his star eater, that yearned for him this time. but she was not a desperate wife. this is what they agreed upon— he told her he may not return each night, but he would eventually.
today had been that day. for his corner of her den that she kept reserved had oils of flowers ready to be sowed. it smelled so heavily of her, densely betwixt the qeya. her own sanctuary, whilst the caribou roamed and lingered on the outskirts. her domain, more than her husbands.
he smelled of foreign lands when she saw him, hauling meats. a heart! how he remembered, it quelled any meandering wonders from her mind in a swift gesture.
she greeted him with a smooth kiss to his cheek, taking the heart to put upon the hides. she had many growing in her collection, hanging and hardening from the cold.
but her beloved was troubled. she could see it— whilst his face never strayed from perpetual dismay, it was taut with regret. stark, no doubt.
thank you. she said smooth, but it was not what she wished to speak of. you've been angry, a statement, gentle, not accusatory. what bothers you?