Kildeer Rest Apparently we share a common plasma.

There were ulax clustered along snowbanks, with long trails of red connecting them, and the shape of wolves lingering within the camp or along the perimeter, patrolling.

The wanderer had found his way. Whatever curiosity might have once burned within him had died after his hunt had failed — after meeting the snow-woman @Kukutux — and now he was sullen, skeptical of every shape upon the horizon. At any point these hunters loyal to the snow-woman might turn their teeth upon him.

He would be careful. It boosted his confidence in knowing these wolves were not some errant branch of Tartok (not with the way the woman had prayed, he thought), although as he prowled between the ulax in search of his owed meal, thoughts of his people's history did surface.

In particular, the tale of Tonravik and her Spine.