Whitebark Stream The final destination of our long journey.

the huntress stirs, casting off the gentle warmth settled close to her skin as she stretches gently. sleep-blurred gaze finds Artyom, muzzle curving at the sprig he holds in his maw. "juniper." she murmurs, reaching to press her muzzle to his a moment, tail wagging softly. the journey had taken a toll, when usually such a short trip would have barely affected her. 

"how are you?" she asks, reaching gently to take hold of the branch. it is bright and crisp, and there comes a certain kind of warmth at the gift; an expression of love she'd never before seen, and yet come to love.