Nova Peak β

last for me <33

Somewhere along the way, the northman had become her charge; her project. She watched him bed down slowly, the tell of pain on his face evidence of a greater suffering he kept well hidden.
The flora of this land remained a larger mystery to the plains wolf, and she was not convinced it would help Skorpa even now.
“There is little more to be done. I believe he needs rest more than anything,” she explains on an approach to the snowwoman. She lingers for a response that does not come and tries once more in her numic tongue, “you are generous to share your den with travellers. Are you hungry? You’re hungry. I will hunt for us all, ok?”
But there is no recognition in the beautiful, bright-eyed, snowy girl. Gently the huntress scents her breath, pushing a curious nose into the thick fur of her throat. And like the others, Ayovi gives her a name in her own native language: Nemage. Sister.
“You dare put a paw on her and I’ll strangle you myself with that ratty fur you like so much,” Ayovi warns, stepping through the threshold of the shaded den that now held her northman in its sheltered crook. “You’ll be all right.” She gives him a concerned glance, and a second for Nemage, before starting back the way they’d come, nose hunting for that cloven trail from earlier.
Skorpa’s bearskin lay forgotten in the freeze. She drags it up over her shoulders, cloaking herself. The smell makes her gag, and it makes her smile. She continues on down the mountain.