i bury myself in the woods & find it necessary to emerge again:

for anyone apart of the group here eheheheheh

---

where was her mother?

( which one? )

not that it might matter, anymore, of course. she'd had so many names, all of them spoken softly, if ever at all. tove had never known which ones to use, so instead, she'd listen always to the songs of her mother's blood that were sung to her. by the end of what little time they'd shared, though, she'd lost them all. had lost that mother to the frostfever; had lost that voice.

( what of the other? )

there hadn't been another, had there? not one that she would've deigned to call mother. not again. but the one she had known had been dying even before she'd been claimed by that after of all ever-afters, hadn't she? dying, ever since she'd been born a hedge-whelp. dying with each heartbeat that went by without a thought of her at all, as she drifted further and farther from her side, if only to come into her own.

now she was here – gone from the sjáandi — seeress that had slipped from her skin and bones, so far from her now that they might only meet again after that last gasp.

but her lungs bellow, creaking with air, scenting a claim that she might border at; and she's high-stepping her way through this snows-drowned beauty; slow, of course, with a mind still webbed with halfsleep. the sun is a thrumming thing; too-ripe, too-bright, limning it all. always would she feel its ancient, giving pulse, and how it could trap life and light just as easily as it could take it all away.

foolish girl. lost girl. she looks up, bleary; hoping that these lights will freeze in these skies, come night.

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^^

Wandering the lands was Thalia's daily business. She would go here and then there - glaring at anyone who dared to even think of looking at the mountain from a distance with a silent threat, to dare them to make her day a little more exciting. But most were cowards who fled as soon as they met her fearless cold stare. Unwilling to take her on what was most likely her turf where they would run off licking infected wounds as she would be treated like a queen for hers.  

But this one... this little dove she found drunkenly wandering their slopes was different. She was young, barely even a yearling as there was still room in her paws to grow within. “Oh these are no lands for sweet little stupid things like you child.” Her voice was sweet, dipped in deadly nightshade as she approached the pale child. She was not theirs, not one of the mountain wolves as far as she knew.

Were they interested in such a pathetic thing to suck up their resources before they even had children of their own to care for? As far as Thalia was concerned... no. They didn't have enough for her let alone some growing whelp who had no mother to care for them. Pathetic. And a shame.

^^
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^^
Salene saw the little waif but wasn't the first to approach. She'd been beaten by another female - Thalia, if she'd heard right - and only enough that she heard the searing words from her mouth. Salene chuffed, teeth flashing for a moment in a look that could have been mirth or could have been a threat. “Now now, she could be of use.... One of the boys might get hungry.” Salene new the spoils of war rarely earned themselves a moment of redemption after all and this wasn't unheard of. If the Northern customs trickled down even to here, it stood to reason that there was a chance she'd see the same things even on this sharp peak.

The cream wolf blinked back those thoughts, two toned eyes closing only for a moment. “Why did you come here?” She asked - the lilt of her voice roughly cut by the stern tone she used. The Ostara had no patience after all and never had - the only one she'd truly softened for was Renatus. She couldn't think of the Ethereal Prince though. Not then. She had to cast those memories aside. “Best hurry, child. I don't stand waiting well.” She only cast a glance to Thalia, a toothy grin shared with the woman before her gaze was fixed to the stranger again.



^^
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selective mutism let's goO0

---

she is mouthless; whatever that might have been her voice snagged on such a sorrow that she couldn't bear to mind more times than she'd already had. so when the firebrand bit out honeysweet words that were anything but, she did not immediately rush to her own defense as she might have had  ( but hadn't ever dared, and would not dare now. )  the dark, shadowknife edges of her spent, tired eyes did crease, however, at stupid – then neverminded it, as she roused herself into showing the pair of them just exactly why the nonir had led her here.

it is an old thing, a known thing, this: the pull in her muscles as she sets herself to foraging some ways away, somewhat back the way she'd came. snuffles and paws her way through the snowdrifts for bearberry; snips up saxifrage in the clutch of moss-laden stone; digs beneath odds and end bits roots. it is not much, what she demonstrates and has acquired; arranges carefully in front of them.

after a moment, she nudges her makeshift gathering towards the ones who've been kept waiting for her.

looks then at the company she keeps with deep skybright eyes, dark brows pinched together in the hope that both females might take to her meaning. — 'i will heal.' she would be of service.

even if this clan starved her, too.

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^^

Never had she really spoken to the blonde woman before - nor did she really care to. Which man did this one belong to? Did it matter? A part of her hoped not Stjor since she was enjoying their little spats, it kept her on her toes on most days and was some form of entertainment - but then again, did any of them plan on settling down or were they building some kind of disgusting harem type deal over here? With Valmúa there was doubts to that thought... but still it clung to her mind.
 
“Who fucking cares, I'll do what I want with this thing.” After all, Thalia was the first to find her so in her mind - the child was hers to do as she pleased with it. And frankly, she wanted to see how far she could toss them down the mountain side. If she could start some kind of avalanche at her feet by using the little girl's body as a catalyst.

Even with Salene's further questioning the girl didn't speak. Only arranging some herbs at their feet and looking at them... with something on the mind. Was it thinking? Thalia glared into the blues of the girl, just not catching her drift. “I think she's stupid.” She sneered unaprovingly.

^^
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^^The Ostara didn't care much for the opinions of others and it was well enough that she didn't know Thalia's. They'd mutually chosen to stay apart, as unconcerned ironically as they both were for the other. Salene had never really taken to women much. Chena and Elsbeth had been by associating with Leviathan and Zion. Jesuite was the rare exception, but, through her she'd forged a friendship past the rest of Winterheart. Primarily women had been her few rivals, she was capable of besting most men with the most basic of methods. She knew she was striking. She knew she was cunning. She didn't need a man to trip over his own feet to tell her and beg for her favor. If anyone built a harem it was most likely to be Salene for her own amusements. She wouldn't and never had been just a plaything, afterall.

Still, Salene smirked, all teeth and glinting eyes, even while the young waif went on to arrange some scarce herbs before them. “Hon sótt — She's sick.” Salene muttered beneath her breath, only turning her head to see how close they were to the rest of their claim. If this could be caught - but then, she most likely wasn't asking for herbs or treatment if she'd offered what she had. Salene tended to pick up quickly, her mother hadn't coddled her, and life in the North never boded well for idiots. “This isn't much of an offering, meyla — little girl.” Salene pointed out the obvious. Although if she'd known much about healing they might have been more useful in her eyes but she didn't and wasn't interested in eating mere scraps of foliage.

Salene still didn't care for the prospects there - she would take so many resources and for what reward? These weren't impressive abilities to the Ostara, and what they needed was capable, strong bodies who could actually help them secure what was theirs.^^
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stupid. offering.

tove looks back and forth between the older females, a shake to her head; the dark arch of brows drawing low over skyvault eyes, mouth a spot agog in disbelief; so sorely tempted to stamp her foot, was she. but she did not. would not let them see the insolence that the pup in her begged to be brought about and let them find satisfaction in it. let them frown like thunder in her face and run her off.

instead, she would show them further;
forcing a great sigh through her flaring dust-rose nostrils, she backed away. away enough to give ample space between her and their border. and, without giving herself another moment to hesitate, the grayling bent her head to one of her forelegs  — and scored through what young flesh she found there.

she whimpered, suckling in snuffly, silly breaths at how easily she rent into herself. she whined, because it hurt the way it always had and she must be careful as to not let bone meet bone; smelt and tasted upon her own tongue the steady trickle of blood-rush. the only time that she looked away was when she released her tendon; head knocking back with a breathless, agonized working of her jaw; nose burning with an omen of tears.

but she would not cry out.

she hopes it might mean something, here;
but, no matter: moving herself back toward the green that she had gathered, had tried to make sense of towards the two in her company. with welldeep eyes still fixed upon them both  ( with such staring intensity that it might've been trancelike )  she half-bows as she cleans her riddled limb as much as she's able to and then pressing it into the soothing snows.

reaching now for the saxifrage; keeps her weight on the better arm as she chews several white sprigs into a wad. turns her chilled wound up to the sky and, after spitting the poultice there, laves over it again and again until it is smeared into cut and fur. moss soon follows, plastered against it all.

with a bit of root to hold it all together, she's finished.

she wobbles a bit, sitting upright, not as steadied as before;
but, like a bird, the herbalist motions to herself, the herbs, her hurt, the remedy, and then towards the pair of them with sharp jabs of her chin; echoed airless, hopeless little grunts — me. blood. moss. you. that parted the ragged wheeze of her empty bloodied lips. frustration silvering the cusp of dark, damp lashes, a muscle twitching away in the crook of her jaw.

it would do her no good to let these valkyrie see her cry.

not here.

but she could be fierce and stubborn, must be;
so she repeats the motion again. again.

i am your offering.

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fml this got way longer than i meant it to be but hi i wanted to be in this party too because sol needs to be weirded out sometimes

---

Distantly, he heard the chatter of the she-wolves.

If he could call it that—there were distinctly two different tones that he heard and if not for that, Solpallur may not have had any interest at all in the goings on of their world. It had less to do with the fact that they weren’t speaking in a language he understood or that they were of the fairer sex, he simply had no reason to go and be intrusive to their own affairs. After all, they didn’t often go butting into his—excluding his sister, because Valmua did as Valmua pleased—and fair was relatively fair.

And despite all of their surly attitudes and nature, respect was still largely apart of their culture. He felt that they were content for the most part; they had territory, even if meager for the moment, their bellies were full, and their ancestors of yore and legend had seemingly smiled upon them. So why, he wondered, why was it that he heard such a mix of tones well enough to put faces to them?

Cautiously, he made his way through the sedge and trees.

The voices, louder now, seemed steeped in vitriol—or at least the one did. A sickly sweet saccharine that made him rumble in response at the dishonesty he sensed; it was the figure of the fiery Thalia that he saw first, followed by the pale, gold Salene that he scarcely knew, but spoke faint words in the language of old. Those he did know. And between them? A stranger, a girl even younger by far and for all intents and purposes to the suneater could have been no more than a child of a year and scarcely more.

Grown enough perhaps to know better, certainly.

It was a strange occurrence, one that he did not expect.

His eyes scanned the silent youth over, and then her offerings.

“What’s this?”

His voice, ground out and low in comparison to their lilts commanded a far different attitude. He couldn’t have been certain how long they had been with her and with prickling hackles along his nape and spine, his eyes left them all to pick through their surroundings with alertness. It wasn’t the first time they had come across the weak and young at their doorstep, though it was the first time it had happened along the span of Morðfjall and their claim.

Solpallur’s nose worked the air about them, but he did not pick up on anything foreign that wasn’t already permeating the air. The wilderness at large, the berries; he smells the lichen clipped and the mingling musk of his brother off the pelt of his fellow packmates, and nothing more.

“She comes alone,” he went on, ever in that grumbling, growling tone. “Is that not strange to you both? She is young.” Wheeling his gaze about again, he left it to shift between the two she-wolves with scrutiny, forgetting that only half of them might have had an inkling of what he would be saying. He didn't like the situation and that much would be evident still in the tension still risen in his frame.
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There was a slight disturbance along the borders. The silver arrow finishes preening herself, beginning to feel a semblance of normality again after the strange wave of illness she had felt weeks prior. She is still thin—frail looking, likely, but it doesn’t stop her from coming among the viper women, a black tipped ear flickering in light deference to the women, though her eyes remained upon the wounded girl.

Eyes drifting to Sol, she had heard only sparse words prior to her arrival, though none seemed friendly. Her stance remained neutral, though to the dark suneater she drifted closer, slender body brushing gently to him to garner his attention, though her eyes set adrift to the youth once more. “Læknir,” she murmured to them, muzzle nudging to the direction of the girl’s offerings. These were the words Solpallur had spoke to her when she had first met him—and despite how sorry she just have looked and seemed, he had believed in her to be of some use to their wayward group. “Healer,” she clarified to the girl.

“She is clever,” she offered then, also something Sol had told her once. Bracing herself against the potential eyes of the judgemental trio before her. “That,” she indicated to the gift of bearberry, her brow arching, “is particularly useful to a woman.”
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^^

Eyes grew wide and interested as the girl began to mutilate herself. Shifting between the strange girl and onto the golden lass at her side as she was almost saying "are you seeing this?!" as she had a hard time swallowing down the laughter that bubbled up in her throat. There was little effort in doing so. It bubbled and burst from her maw and nose as she cackled at the sight of the girl who bit her own flesh just to mend it here and now.
 
“She is daft!” The woman squealed with dark delight. Unfortunately for the youth that presented herself before them - Thalia was not one who was... good at being gentle and understanding. She was blunt, ferocious and fierce with her tone. Her tongue was a spear while her teeth were knives.

One of the brothers was next to arrive, only giving a quick orange ear flicker in his direction as he spoke some kind of language she was not aware of. His words were nothing but background noise as they held no meaning to her. 

The next woman to arrive had caught the next of Thalia's fire as she spat out after her explanation of the sight. “Clever?! You must be as dunderheaded as she is if you think she's clever. What good is a healer, if that is what you think she is, if she can't speak! Does she even know what we are saying or is she just guessing? Are we supposed to guess what's on her mind?” Maybe she was a little too harsh in comparison to most in this pack... we would soon learn if she was a little too harsh or maybe not harsh enough.

^^
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— words in “this color” are also in old norse

^^What came next was more bizarre when things took a sharp turn. The waif turned her teeth on herself and tore into her own flesh. The wound bled, and the waif turned to the meager herbs she'd gathered and started to tend to the wound shed just made on herself. Solpallur arrived to see the wound now tended to and noted she wasn't much of a treat but Salene leveled him with a gaze full of her thoughts. Daufi — She's mute. Which Saeran had minced his words most of the time - and Solpallur did, as well. What this was went beyond it, however.

Meadow arriving and calling the girl clever meant nothing to Salene. She rolled her eyes in almost the exact moment that Thalia lost herself to laugher “She mutilated herself. A good healer doesn't make wounds just to tend.” She focused on the girl again, rather than the opinions of the rest of them. It was still too peculiar. Something seemed amiss beyond her silence.

“Do we have a need of someome who would rip into their own flesh? I don't trust her.” The Ostara finally turned her gaze back to the small stranger - ultimately it was going to fall go how Solpallur reacted to her words.^^
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y'all can skip tove for now while everyone hashes out whether to take her in or not if it helps ldhddjh

---

læknir, daufi; she starts at each word with a sharp bob of her silver crown, understanding and knowing but with so much, too much within her that stoppered her true voice from emerging. so she could only enunciate, at the moment, with powerless huffs and with gray paws scuffing into the snows. she paid no mind to the shrike that spit such emberous words; the deep blue of her eyes met those of the gilded she-wolf before her not in challenge, but with the bright gleam of everything but supposed daftness. looked then to the wisp and the great dark who had arrived.

she would not wish them ill, if none of them trusted her; she would rather sentence herself to earning it beneath their scrutiny instead of facing all that'd been dismantled before her very eyes again.

finally, she bowed her head, glowering at her paws — at her failure meant to bring about some sense of security she'd never known before.

but she listened.
waited.

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“Enough,” he rumbled at Thalia, though he knew it was a useless gesture in the verbal sense. The little dragon in their midst did as she pleased, much like Valmua; he abandoned the cause to listen to the words of both Meadow and Salene instead, his focus on the latter to do the explaining to him where he did not comprehend.

In those brief moments, his gaze roved back over the young girl and her tended wound—it was far less unsettling to him, who had seen what madness could render in but a short time. A madness that perhaps once could have consumed him by way of battle and bloodlust, had his forebearers willed it. Scrutiny lingered as much as tension rippled through the air like electricity before a lightning strike, and the suneater closed his eyes in a mix of thought and the whisper of a blooming headache.

“It is wise not to trust,” he said to Salene, “but I wonder who would turn their child loose to the wilds to land at our homestead. Perhaps she does ail, she does not speak.” The words were a quiet murmur, rasping out into the cool air. He moved ahead of them all then, his nose working feverishly again from whence the girl came. He could not sense an illness lurking on the wind, but there was little else to go on without following her trail.

He rounded back then, eyeing the group.

“This could be a test from our ancestors, or the gods of these lands,” he thought aloud. His gaze settled back on Salene, pressing along: “Caution I accept, but cruelty I will not—you are most familiar with our ways, would you turn this one out truly? Someone taught her these means, bloodletting and all.”

He knew it could have been a trap or trick, because even his gods had a sense of humor. His ancestors had a sense of humor, one that ran dark and deep and was there to perturb them. Just as it were, he knew that only the strongest survived in lands like these, where the world was meant to be harsh and unrelenting, unforgiving even.

But was this the work of something malevolent?

He could not say.
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um lol...

---

Her eyes grazed over to the two women—both quick to place insult, one with words and the other with a roll of her rather pretty eyes. Meadow had been subject to ire before, and not deterred by it, she allowed a saccharine smile to light her slender features, bright eyes falling upon the more fiery of the two. “You’ve been with us for how long?” There was a small pause, her tail giving a simple sway in the cooler autumn breeze. “Differing languages hasn’t been an issue here thus far,” she paused, and then her smirk only widened. Perhaps it had been the stress finally eliciting a response from her, but now would be a moment to define the usually complacent woman.

“If anything, speaking here is overrated. You’ve been shooting your mouth off and adding less to this conversation than the girl in question,” she purred, stepping away from Solpallur and his shadow, should the fiery woman wish for a more physical interaction with her.

Solpallur conversed with the pale beauty, and while Meadow’s eyes were careful upon Thalia, she lifted her slender shoulders in a light shrug. “Don’t trust her then—but let her prove herself. If she proves inept or incompetent, she can be chased.”

She was, after all, just a child in need of a home.
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^^

Half of the individuals were speaking that same gibberish. One wasn't speaking at all and Sollpalur had the AUDACITY address her with a rumble in his throat. It wasn't a true threat, she had worse aimed at her before and yet still the annoyance grew. How could he expect for her to listen and cooperate when she had no idea what he was saying! A flash of ivories tot he darker brother, defiant no matter what he uttered - it was the tone that she'd address here and before she could speak up -

The autumnal woman's fire beamed to the other auburn one. A snap of teeth in her direction for the shit she spewed, going on about "being useless" as the voiceless girl and yet - what good did this nameless one do other than run her mouth? “Speak for your fucking self.” She snapped.

The difference in languages not being a problem? How the fuck did she know? In fact the fiery woman was beyond frustrated at not knowing what anyone was saying. Even if she had enough respect for anyone in this pack, how could she be expected to follow orders, the going on, when they were spoken in a language she couldn't follow? “If you're so stupid to trust someone who mutilates themselves to heal you, be my guest sweetie.” She spat in the direction of the one who defended the stupidity of it all.

With a flash of the same hatred toward the darker male, Salene had been spared from venom as Thalia walked off to let them decide on this instead. With a kick of snow and dirt behind her, treating the other two like a pile of shit to be covered - she was off to do something more worthy of her precious time than squabble over who joins a pack she couldn't care less about.

^^

---

Exit? Idk if people are gonna let her walk off LMAO but this is her attempt

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Above them, laying upon a ridge of the mountain that oversaw the borders, Stjornuati watched the chaos unfold all because of a child who either did not know how to speak or chose not to. Either way, even his own hackles raised at the way the small one injured her own leg, teeth baring in his solitude at the thought of the blood magic. While their clan had many rituals of the sort, it was blood freely given, sacrificed by another, never your own. It was a practice he had not seen and so, it was a practice that made him wary.

Still, he did not descend, letting his brother deal with the nonsense for once while he sat in silence. The Ostara, his lítill dreki, and even Engi squabbled over the wayward waif, the tension building to a point where he was sure the blood of their own would be spilled upon their borders. Surprise flickered through him when Engi rose to argue, spitting insults that were unlike her (as far as he knew) at a creature he was sure would snap back.

As if he could fly down from his perch like a raven, the stareater got to his feet and watched in trepidation as Thalia rose to the occasion, snapping and spitting vemon. Again, he watched in surprise when, instead of attacking the woman his brother enjoyed so much, the little firebreather turned and stalked away, not inward towards the mountain but out, away from the spire.

It was now that the man moved, letting his paws carry him not to the scene upon the foot of their mountain but after the woman bred of fire and ferocity.

---

Cameo!

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^^While everything seemed to set off at once Salene found herself oddly perplexed. Solpallur was deflecting to her opinion on all of this, and that was surprising. She wouldn't have left a border wolf to anyone's judgement who wasn't one of the leaders but she was finding that these wolves and this clan operated differently. Her pride had always been her biggest vice afterall, and while she did think that she was level headed and could reason well she didn't think she had earned that quite yet. There was something to be said just for living before. As a two year old in her first go around she wouldn't have been nearly this composed.

Which, truly, wasn't saying much. Salene had never bothered to hide her responses.

“If we all woke up here - some lived before, some without the memory of how they got here.....what if she did that to herself, and then died?” Came her first answer to the man. She appreciated his trust overall, but, between Thalia and Meadow there was a great back and forth full of ire and venom. Salene still was focused mostly on the stranger - let the infighting sort itself out. The Ostara shot both women a glance - because regardless of how they felt was it ever smart to display their issues to strangers at their borders? “Settle down.” She muttered, but then, Thalia was already storming off with fire at her feet, and the Ostara might have felt the same headache brewing back in her head that Solpallur had.

“If you are set to allow her among us, I would make her that one's charge and bid her no further up the mountains - let the ravens watch them.” If Meadow wanted her that badly.....well, okay. But Salene wouldn't trust a thing that the woman did and she didn't want to see the peculiar girl all over the mountain. “It won't keep her safe from the Dragon, though.” At that, Salene gave a quirk of her lips into a smirk - little would, in these lands or outside them.^^

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likely my last post here unless otherwise needed, feel free to powerplay her a little bit if she's accepted or run off

---

the great dark spoke and not soon after, for a moment, it seemed as if some great clash of fang on fang might break out; even though her eyes remained dutifully downcast, she could feel the hellfire smoldering against the gray planes of her solemn face; felt also a momentary calm wash over her as the gentle-furred other spoke in her own retaliation ... but it was not to be. tove did not fear the wildfire ( as the sungleam so cautioned for ) but she still jerked sharply out of the way as that bright hellion flew from the foothills, watching as a gilt and golden male pursued.

she did not know what to make of such a display.

it was only when the heavy ridge of her winterscoat settled that she realized, belatedly, that she had hopped over the perimeter in her haste, had gravitated nearer to the great dark and the fallow-femme that'd proposed some more of the positive proposals for her case — and she began to backscrabble, kotowing messily as if badly burnt, wailing silent fyrirgefðu, fyrirgefðu! — forgive me, forgive me! for her own error. curled herself tight into a silver comma with a thin, high wheeze; held fast the soft of her belly beneath her as hysteric spittle creased the corners of dumb lips.

braced for the reprimand that would surely befall her for it would;
it always would when she made herself so dishonorable.

foolish girl.

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It was a moment of tattering for him, torn between listening to what transpired in tongues he did not fully grasp in one ear while turning the other to listen to what Salene had to offer. His lips curled back with disdain for the scene, the only resolution he could swiftly come to was that these women were all a handful, perhaps almost too much trouble to be worth it in the very moment.

As it was as though Valmua’s spirit had leeched into all of them, deep into their hearts with the way they bickered. Even when the little dragon among them spat her last and turned away, he felt the urge to run her down and pinch with teeth her like he would his sister until she squealed and relented. Only he knew better—such wouldn’t have been the case at any rate, believing that the spitfire dragon would rather blood be drawn.

And for a long beat, silence spanned between those who were left.

Save the ravens in the trees; their cacophony was ceaseless and like mockery, cutting down to the bone just as much as the ensuing chaos echoed on repeat in his mind. His gaze slid between the trio, resting on the not-quite-yearling among them; he had his reasons to be wary too, unsettled not only by her appearance alone but her actions, that inability to speak.

Was it too late to chase Thalia down? Perhaps it would be better to fight her and put her in her place now than let it fester and truth be told it would have been an easier matter to settle than the one at hand. But as he looked for her, he saw that she was gone, and too many moments had escaped them all to begin that pursuit.

His muzzle wrinkled again with displeasure, and Solpallur shook his head.

“Engi,” he rumbled, gesturing at the girl, “tend.”

No room for discussion there, no point or error of margin in the tone of his voice. Meadow had stuck with them this long and he had no reason to doubt her or her opinion, especially one that had so adamantly displayed itself at a moment’s notice. Like the shock of red atop her head, she had passion that burned through. He would saddle her with perceived burdens even if all it did was test her.

His gaze rounded then on Salene and her little smirk; his lips drew back at her in a quiet warning. It was unappreciated though she spoke a fine thread of truth—he couldn’t argue that he did not anticipate turmoil, but his kind did in fact operate to another tune. Disappointment shrouded him in all but his expression; it concerned him to see them act in such ways.

“Hrafnsvaktin does not forsake the young,” he told her. “The little dragon can cry all she wants, but she will learn as you will too. If the child is an omen or proves useless then I will deal with her—personally—as I would any.” The wilderness was a vast place, unforgiving for all of them at a moment’s notice, and that he did not need to explain to her.
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