Blackfoot Forest We are made of all those who have built and broken us.

His lips part and the tapeesa stifles a flinch, for she can remember the harsh words of a duo that spoke a tongue that was not her own - demanding and intelligible but one word had stuck out. "English! English!" She can hear the jeering shouts in her head, even now, as taqqiq's daughter had crumpled, unable to comply. She expects the words to be of this language, one she has come to detest, and there's a crease between her eyes that speaks of stubbornness for she has no desire to learn the tongue. 

She blinks owlish eyes, stunned, when his words fall like snow, soft on her perked ears. It's caught her attention and she can't help but peer at him discreetly - as if trying to puzzle out his intentions. 

She's frozen, as if in time, her ear gives a small twitch as if to listen that the path at her back is clear should it be needed. A cautious stillness has taken up her willow frame - as if she's decided to stay but could still take flight at any second. 

"Uki," the tundrian whispers, the words but a soft rasp in the only language she's known.   He's not asked but she offers him this, her name which she usually guards fiercely, for it's the only thing she has to give.