Herbalists' Cache dewclaw mountain

star eater's gaze lifted as the girl approached, her pale form gilded by the morning light, wind teasing strands of her fur. a smile came easily, soft and warm against the cold that bit their cheeks.
this is my birthing den, she said, voice smooth as silk, gesturing with a slight incline of her muzzle to the carefully shaped snow shelter behind her. sun eater's handiwork. his devotion built into every curve and brace of the structure, a gift of shelter for the days to come.
her tail swept the snow idly as she looked back to other shore, something bright and knowing flickering behind her eyes. he built it for me, she added, as though it were a secret, a prized thing only they might share in this quiet hour.
then, shifting to the bundles at her paws, she nudged them forward—a collection of caribou dewclaws, strips of cured hide, tufts of downy fur still sweet with scent.
and i want you to help me decorate, star eater continued, as though this was the most natural request in the world. these. we will make it beautiful. strong. her smile grew, playful now. a place worthy of the next saatsine generation.
her eyes lingered on the girl a moment longer, searching. measuring.
you’ll help me, won’t you?