Sunset Valley honor, empty-mouthed

she does not rest for long, the break of a twig rousing her from light sleep. she stands slowly, fur mussed, and eyes the stranger with a mix of wariness and intrigue. the stranger smells of mingling scents, of herbs and of others and of milk. a mother.

her stance softens, something akin to friendly, but still she does not speak. there is a grief that clings to this woman, a palpable sorrow. loss of a child, perhaps. qupirruarjuit knows this grief all too well. she steps forward, circling curiously.

"you mourn."