Herbalists' Cache dewclaw mountain

star eater watches her, fondness softening the winter edges of her gaze. there’s something tender in the way other shore moves, so careful with the dewclaws as if the spirits themselves might be watching from the shadows, judging each placement. it warms something deep in her chest.
around the shelter, she hums, voice light as the snow drifting down. she nods toward the curve of the walls, already imagining the ring they will make. a circle, to keep us safe. to keep them safe.
she bends then, taking up one of the smaller talons between her teeth, setting it with practiced ease into the snowbank where wall meets earth. a perfect loop. a perfect barrier. a perfect beginning.
the path we can make when they arrive, star eater adds after a beat, glancing toward the den’s entrance, where the snow is already tamped down from her pacing. when we know they are strong enough to see the world. for now, this is enough.
her belly shifts beneath her as if the little lives inside agree.
she smiles at other shore, a rare thing, genuine and bright. you do good work. the spirits will be pleased.