dripping pearls

At Benedict’s exclamation, the shimmering wolf smiled, faintly amused, though she understood the surprise.

“Yes. It’s an annual tradition I hope to observe for years to come. A bear will be hunted down and killed, its pelt and meat and bones to be used to keep the pack fed and warm. The wolf who makes the killing blow gets to keep the pelt in his or her den once its processed. It’s one of the few hunting expeditions where weapons other than our own jaws will be used, to give us a little space from the bear’s claws.”

She nodded to her shoulder, grinning ruefully as she added, “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve faced a bear.” The shoulder in question bore several ragged furrows, clearly given by a bear’s claws. It had been a harrowing moment for the woman, and the bear had survived, but the bear had been the one to flee.

Her head tilted slightly at Benedict’s enquiry as to the message she wished to send, then spoke, “That we have some new neighbors next door and that, as yet, I don’t know where their tendencies lie, and if they lie in the dark, and are hostile…. War may come. Also my apologies that I have yet to call a festival of my own, though I hear many other festivals have been called lately…”

Her message given, she smiled at the man as she asked easily, “How have you been since the hunt?”

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think