Skill: Bonereader 2/5

Twyla was not the most esteemed of hunters, but even she could feel herself being watched. Her paws shifted the bones around at her feet while the trees shuddered with every passing wind, it was almost as if she could feel like wayward calling like a holler. Echoing, echoing, echoing. She was almost startled by the voice that erupted, thinking the trees had finally managed to find their voice amidst the temporary quiet.

For a second, Twyla was spent trying to find the source of the voice, peering around her shoulders and past the small shrubs. Even a moment was taken to press her ear to the pile of bones at her feet, curiousness and wonder dissipating as she locked eyes with a wiry thing.

Are spirits. Her lips spread into a soft, amused grin as she lifted her head and side-stepped to see the creature fully. In the bones, dirt. Lost or important, Twyla has learned. A single claw traced the small bones, another offering to be made should she be asked.

They give wise. In the way they were thrown, the markings that grooved the polish, or even the creature they came from. All signs, all means of communication from a form far greater than the two who spoke of them now.