Big dreams that take us far away

The woman heard between the words the yearling spoke, and Sedna’s responding grin to Sigrún’s jab showed a few too many teeth, and didn’t quite reach her eyes. The comment would have earned both of them a bite on the ass in earshot of Morganna, and it would be a disservice to herself to deny that she was suddenly overcome with a burning inclination to do the same. But the yearling wasn’t her subordinate, it wasn’t her place to dole out punishments, at least not in the presence of those that outranked her. It hadn’t yet clicked that her temper-flairs might be tied to her growing up.

Silver eyes cast across the plains, eyes settling on distant dancing trees with a homesick smile. Their arrangement with Ashen was much like that of the Scowle and the Willows, hardly an adjustment at all for the soot coated woman, though she would want to make herself familiar with the scents so she didn’t accidentally bail someone up that was authorised to be there. Her smile softened when Mortis arrived, weighed down with supplies, strange spotted pelts and preserved meats. “ I won’t speak for Sigrún, though of course she is welcome to join me. I think, if it is permitted, I would like to dig a den out for myself closer to the willows.” Except for in the very depths of winter, she had always been more of an open air sleeper, only retreating to the communal den when survival necessitated it, but something told her with the provision of furs that perhaps the weather here might be more fickle than she was used to, and it would be advantageous to have a place to call her own.