Herbalists' Cache dewclaw mountain

A little sliver of pride fluttered in her at Star Eater's words. ...Thank you, she replied quietly, returning the same warm smile.

She had noticed that she was also being watched; a funny thing, the two of them watching the work of the other. Star Eater appeared confident with each of her placements. She was a practiced decorator, and knew exactly what she envisioned and what would please the caribou spirits. There was little need for constant reevaluation of each placed dewclaw when Star Eater had in her mind a perfect image of the final result. It was that faith in the little details that Other Shore admired, the experience that guided her each and every move that she herself did not have yet. 

Other Shore turned back to her own work. She tapped the askew dewclaws, and prayed they would not fall out as she corrected them. Then she picked up more and continued with that little ritual of hers. Place, tap, tap again. Come around later, tap a third time. 

Their work became a pattern, and a pattern became a form. A ring of careful blessings for the tender ones that would soon arrive. She gently blew on the dewclaws and let the excess snow fall away. Perhaps she did have reason to be proud of her work, after all.