A snow-spun waif lingered around the Saastine. Caan was not C'ede', the white raven boy whom nursed alongside Sivaak's own children. No warmth of recognition would be granted to the girl, only the cold glower of his icy gaze. Caan did not immediately act against the lonesome creature. He bided his time, casting glances over his shoulder throughout the passing days to keep tabs on the girl.

She neither approached, nor left. So it was up to the Sun Clan to make contact. Fabulous.

The waif lurked in the distance once more. There was little cover around the Winter Scar lake, just open tundra, water, and caribou. So Caan made no attempts to hide approach. A direct one, with the place in which she stood openly conveyed as his destination. The rain boy didn't rush over, nor was his stride too casual. He made an effort to look as imposing as he could, hiding the limp the best he could.

Who are you, and why do you follow? He was the chieftain's son. This stranger would tell him her purpose.

The rain boy's approach is met with a hard cutting gaze. Sanguineous eyes meet ice. A hunger lurks within, one that Caan cannot immediately place. Thin, the girl certainly was, but she was not starved. Caan lifts his chin, enlarging his presence as he stole the distance she made from him.

One of you. Was.

Muradoii... He repeated, eyes narrowing as he assessed her brief introduction. Your mother no longer marches with the Saastine.

Sivaak. A woman the boy only knew sparingly through name. The Muradoii woman weaned his littermate, in turn making this girl his brother's milk sibling, but not his own. Neither did Sivaak formalize her bond with his father. No children born between them, and his father was open in his tailing after Iglux̂. What would the crying wind woman think of the Muradoii girl?

If you're looking for your mother, she is not here. The words that fall from his mouth are cold, but somewhere Caan finds a small similarity between himself and Cetseni. He tucks that piece away, close to his chest as though folded under several layers of clothes.

You follow us for our scraps, I presume?

---

Putting a closer in this post so she is not longer thread locked in the past.

I do not look for her

Her words cut as she releases them. Caan does not flinch from her tone. For the briefest instance, the hard edge to his gaze softened.

"I no longer look for my own, either." The truth crosses his thoughts, but he does not find the strength to voice it.

When had he stopped searching for Morwenna? When did his heart release the hope that he would see his mother again? Was it when he father found him?  Did his hope die as he waited at the banks of the Winter Scar?

Those red eyes rise to meet his. A hard glare the held a certain kind of boldness brought out only with pride. A wounded pride.

If you only scavenge then I do not see need to run you off. What use is there in spilling blood over spoiling meat? Caan stepped forward, matching her eye line with his own. But only the Sun Clan may hunt the caribou. A new man among us found this out the hard way. As did the woman who followed him.

A twitch of his lip revealed the tip of one fang, before Caan pressed forward, walking past Cetseni with a bump of their shoulders. Not stopping to look back, the boy needled the lone Muradoii in the tongue of his father.

Whenever you are tired of scraps, seek my father before you do anything foolish. Only he can make you Saastine once more.