Dawnlark Plains glass eyes

she dips her head at the woman's sympathies, eyes solemn. they each answer in turn, the first of them seemingly more confident in the other. she's not noticed any egregious lack of game, but then, she figures scarcity is just the nature of winter.

we needh hunhh'erh, she says baldly, throwing caution to the wind. her gaze shifts to the man, and grows deep-set and wry. an' frienhh'.

if it must be her, here to recruit, she'll do her best. she'd much prefer if her war-chieftain or huntmaster—far more eloquent by both circumstance and anatomy—would make these overtures, but as it were. . .

and still no spark of recognition on her part toward either of the parties before her. if you needh a home, Avicus adds, with a brief shrug.

she will not ignore an opportunity like this, but she certainly won't beg, either.