Duskfire Glacier I am the wrath that topples armies,

Tikigâk noted the drive in his step—the limp critter hanging from his mouth. He was taking it somewhere, to someone. He was in the middle of this delivery, but did not seem bothered by her interruption; the dark man met her in good spirits. 

Her own plume sways in answer. The indifferent gaze of Tikigâk briefly averts in a show of respect, head dipping a measure. Proud woman that she was, Tikigâk was not stupid; she knew her strength, she knew her power. And while her place was at the side of her mate, Tikigâk intended to climb her way there, not rely on the man to elevate her.

She was capable. The bitch could—and would—do it herself. Had worked her way up swiftly already, for all of her good hunting. Even still, Tikigâk understood her place as she gathered her bearings. 

Closing the distance between them, the feral woman permits his olfactory investigation while responding in kind, should he permit it.