The laughter of the trader contagious, Wardruna chuckling to follow with a shake of her head. Ah, oops! Wardruna was happy for the woman's honesty and the way in which she taught the norse-wolf the works of trade. After all, if she were now to be Queen of Northfall, she would need to uphold the ways in which her father had meant it to be. A place for people to come to learn to fight for themselves, a place to come for trade and enjoy festivity of feast and tournament. Open, communal, worldly upon their icy domain.

Purple flowers for red feathers. Wardruna tucked the feathers under her footing, to add them to her personal den in collection.

Now Wardruna looks to the rest, some fuzzy, mossy bundle that looked like the stuff on the trees and rocks around her home in the tundra, but black, which was different to her. Then there was carefully plucked herbs with stem and root which could be cultivated, yet she personally did not know what they were. Sheauga might have, Harper definitely and a sister long gone too. Last, the strips of soft brown and white caribou fur which Wardruna touched gently with paw pads to get the feel of. This she knew, but also knew the herbs held great value.

This. Touching the caribou fur. And this. Pointing to the herbs with her toes. She would then push each of the three black stones across the ground. Then lifted the hunk of meat and set it on top of one of the rocks. For these?