Herbalists' Cache rook's rest

“He is a good man,” she speaks with the same protectiveness she feels. The exchange had colored her view of the chieftain’s wife, reinforced her guard among the dueling sides of the caribou hunters, but neither would she expect a woman grappling with violence between husband and sister to be a consummate diplomat. Wherever he was, she knew Skorpa was conducting himself with the same vigilance among the chief’s hunters.
When Star Eater brings her to a warren in the snow, the huntress’ pace slows to a gentle pad, ears swiveling to greet a chorus of tiny coos, eyes widening as they touch upon the impossibly tiny bodies in the warm dark. She aches for these children she does not know, who have no voices in this matter of war. Their fragile lives were what mattered now.
Ayovi does not draw forward into the birthing den, her firm indigo gaze instead meeting with Star Eater. 
“We want what any parent in the taiga wants: safety for our children.” Such was the design behind the mountain's call for peace, and why it's failure stung like fire.