Deepwood Weald tropicalis

sulukinak found a dark path through the weald, following the shadows where they bisected the path of dutch, his wife, or any other scents; but she trended away from them.

a chunk of the weald looked both older than the rest and new, with vibrant green shoots and young trees dominating a coarse black soil; there was more light from the canopy here, but also a plethora of logs and trunks which looked blackened.

as she examined these, the strong scent of charcoal set something off for her corpulent stomach and she suddenly heaved, spilling forth the partial contents of her stomach.

as sulukinak licked her lips, she felt the sense of being watched from some corner of the forest, and froze.

He had not expected to come across Sulukinak's scent again so soon. And he was wary, to his shame, of her unknown nearness to Minnow's brood — but he supposed that he should be wary. His shame, then, was for other things. He had plenty enough to choose from.

The panther followed the trail to its terminus, where the scent suddenly grew sour as Sulukinak spilled her last meal into the dirt. Dutch watched her for a moment longer, concerned, before her watchful head swung around. His own stomach hurt, then. What was he to do without her?

"It's only me," he said quietly, stepping further out of the swirling mists.

a line of saliva connected her lower lip to some grass, but disconnected when the voice of dutch hits her ears and she turns to look at him, then away.

sulukinak had never held a reason to be wary of this man, and remained nonplussed by his presence; although an ear remained turned to listen for his position or further words he might share.

the quiet between them was as uneasy as her full belly.

taking the initiative, the girl asks: why follow me? what do you want? she had not expected it.

The panther's ears fanned back in thought. He knew why he'd followed her; what he did not know was why she was here.

"I was surprised to find your scent," he said honestly. "I thought you must be angry with me."

He tried to reframe her actions without the anger he'd assumed was present. It almost fit. Almost.

did he think she would leave with cen? the man had said seven weeks. sulukinak did not want to go—not until she must. there was time for her to make up her mind, or to have it made up for her.

angry? no. sulukinak did not know what she felt, except for sick right now. she began to move again, but paused a moment, murmuring, need water. and she moved again at a slow enough pace that would invite dutch along.

it would not take many strides to find a puddle, and further again there was a rivulet of water, like a shallow ditch, for which she could slake her thirst and maybe hold down the rest of the caribou.

thinking of the hunt, she mentions—he says i hunt well. cen.