Blacktail Deer Plateau ◊;

geirmundr could not grasp her words—her tongue was swift, filled with sharp corners and rising panic, each sound tumbling out like stones down a cliff. but he knew tone. he knew urgency. her paws tore at the earth, her breath ragged between mouthfuls of meat, and her eyes—dark, dazed, desperate—told him enough.
she was searching.
and she would not wait.
so he let her work.
he stood just beyond the edge of her labor, silent as shadow, watching her dig, drag, struggle—not from lack of strength, but from the weight of grief bound in duty. she did not ask for help.
but when she paused, breath heavy in the cold, he stepped forward.
a grunt—low and rumbling in his chest—and then he motioned, broad head tilting toward the horizon. a flick of his muzzle. that way. his body shifted, slow and sure, as he moved to stand near the cached meat.
they would go together.
he did not need her to explain.
she had somewhere to be.
he would take her.