Bitterroot Valley where the north wind meets the sea

some names could be so difficult to enunciate upon her and sega's accent. yet from sound alone, she could tell that her friend—and now, chieftain—had begun to get better with the common tongue. 

elowyn. ravah repeats back, to make sure that she is saying it right. pretty... what call you. 

she had much catching up to do.

either way, ravah smiles warmly at the other girl, while she reaches with a paw to unearth some snow from the river's edge. beneath, a piece of bitterroot that yet still persists despite the increasing cold of the season.

she plucks it with her teeth and moves towards the girl, reaching tenderly—having first paused to silently ask permission—to push it into the plush coat of her neck. just beneath her ear. there. beautiful. ravah chuffs warmly. 

her question results in the angling of ravah's ears and a swish of her tail. 

yes. ravah says. you liking sega?

she would not disclose her reasoning for asking! but it hadn't went amiss by the woman that her childhood friend and chief was wifeless. perhaps she would take it upon herself to play cupid.