Bitterroot Valley she said it didn't seem like that long ago

Their flavours of communication were not a match - strawberry meets eggyolk, beef fat courts vanilla. Miska grimaced inwardly at the effort it would take to swap his usual obscenities and crass jokes for whatever passed as acceptable outside the brotherhood. He considered to what extent it was worth it.

The preserving of pelts was new to him, but seemed widespread in the wilds - @Nowke, son of Skorpa, had worn the remains of bear. The dark wolf frowned, looking between the Angel and the doe, lingering on the dead animal's glassy eye. It surprised him to feel mild disgust at the idea. Not so much the peeling of the skin, but what it might mean for its owner's afterlife.

"Niech wiatry niosą twoją duszę tam, gdzie biegnie wieczne stado. Is goodbye," Miska said, a little tartly. "Girl should saying something if want take skin. Seem rude." He stepped back from the body, inviting Angel to thank the animal for its gifts.