Nov 11 10:50:28 106 PA - A hunting we will go

From Chronicles

North America - Old Highway

The Old Highway is a solidly constructed road leading to and from Kingsdale. It is heavily travelled with lanes of traffic going in both directions. About a half a mile of wilderness to either side of this road has been cleared. This provides the guards and patrols a clear line of sight in case of trouble, and allows them to make preparations for any approaching visitors who look dangerous.

This road is much larger than most of the side trails, it always shows signs of recent travel as it is the only major road coming and going to Kingsdale.

Mikjel has been driving west for most of the day. This doesn't mean that he's got very far, though. He's been travelling west along the Laramy road, but at little more than a walking pace, and every few hundred metres, he slows to a crawl as he takes another look around, sometimes even hopping out of the vehicle to get on top and get a better view. Eventually, he turns off the road, heading vaguely northwest, toward a wood on the horizon.

Settled into a comfortable pace, the small Inuit woman and her companion have come beyond the city's gates as well. For a woman of her height, she moves at a fair pace, a steady pace. While most would choose to move along the road, both Monique and the bear ghost through the surround woods, both of them fairly quiet. Having left at an early hour of the morning, she's made fair progress to reach the point she's at. She comes down from a rise, Tornaq following her, and they both make their way roughly towards the road, her steps light. Interestingly enough, even with the cold in the air, she doesn't wear a coat to keep her warm, though there are a number of weapons hanging from a belt around her waist, in addition to the spear that she carries.

Mikjel arrives at the edge of the woods in the late afternoon. He hasn't noticed either woman or bear, as they were far enough off the road to be out of his lign of sight. As for hearing them, while an electric motor is quiet, that's only in comparison to an internal combustion engine. It's far louder than footsteps, certainly those of someone who's trying not to be heard. That noise ends abrubtly, though, as the ATV comes to a halt, partially surrounded by forest. There is a long pause before a figure climbs out, dressed in a suit of full-body armour, painted green and brown, rather than the flat black that is usual for this style of armour, and further covered with scraps of cloth and bits of foliage. He has a line of traps in one hand and a hunting rifle over his shoulder and, after looking around and locking his vehicle, sets off into the bush.

As the noise of the engine stops, Monique casts a glance in the direction of it, stopping in her steps as she does so. Tornaq takes a few steps past her, then whuffs as he looks in that direction as well. Lowering his nose, he touches her shoulder, then returns his attention towards the woods. Around each of the woman's wrists is wrapped a leather thong, though if there's more to it than that, it's hard to see for the leather twined securely there. Lifting her free right hand, she brushes a bit of hair from her fact, tucking it behind one of her ears. Her hair is held in a braid, though from the day's travel, it's a little frayed around the edges, wispy. Tornaq lifts his head, nose in the air and sniffing at the wafts of it which pass him by. Rising up onto his hind legs, his round ears turn to catch every sound he can, whuffing the air a little more.

Mikjel slips into the woods with quiet confidence, noting the location of the vehicle but moving directly away from it, deeper into the bush. He searches out trails, bypassing those that have been cut through the trees and seeking instead ones created by the passage of animals over the years. Eventually, he happens upon a rabbit trail and lays a snare, attaching the loop of metal to an overhanging branch. He wanders off the trail and finds it again a few hundred metres away, laying his second snare where the trail ducks under an ancient fence. Over the course of the late afternoon, he lays four snares on two separate rabbit runs. Once the last one is set in place, this one balanced beneath a bent oak sapling, he turns and heads back along his path, retracing his steps toward the ATV>

The great white bear lowers himself to his paws again, then expels a soft sound at the same time as he touches his little shaman's shoulder. Monique gives a smile, then lifts her free hand to touch his nose, the black leathery skin of it a little cool. Easing her shoulders in a shrug, she shifts her hold on the shaft of the staff, the wood smooth beneath her fingers. With Tornaq but a step or two to one side and a little in front of her, the pair then start their way across the road to enter the trees on the opposite side. In truth, it is the bear who 'leads' the hunt, for he's the one with the better nose and thus the better way of knowing where the prey is. A short distance into the trees, he stops and lowers his nose to the ground, whuffing softly at the scent there, then lifting his head. Monique glances to the ground, then looks up and around, then lowers to one knee before reaching out to touch the track with the fingers of one of her hands. As she rises, she murmurs something in her native Inuit language, and the two start to move again, the shaman carrying her spear in such a way as that it wouldn't take much of a movement to ready it to throw. They're not that far from where the ATV is parked, and heading towards Mikjel, though his track is not the one they follow... or likely isn't, at least.

Something's coming this way. Something big. Unfortunately for Mikjel, he's both headed directly for it and he hasn't noticed. Maybe the audio sensors in his armour aren't working, maybe he's just tired. For whatever reason, he fails to catch the sound of a bear approaching through the woods. Even the olfactory sensors might have given him a hint, something musky, maybe even the memory of a seal long-passed, but, unfortunately for him, he picked a route where his scent wouldn't alert anything ahead. Since the bear is following his former route, the wind is blowing from man to bear, carrying a scent of machine oil and musty cloth. Worse, the underbrush is dense, with only a single human-sized trail at this point. All of this combines to get him within fifteen feet of woman and bear before he notices. Turning a corner, he suddenly realises that there's way too much white fur, and it's way too close. Instinct argues with training for a moment. Instinct says to stand very still, that maybe the bear hasn't seen you. Maybe it will just heep going. Training notes, politely, that instinct is a bleeding moron, seeing as the bear can only go straight toward us, and it's already looking at us. Training also notes that, if the bear so chooses, instinct's life expectancy is looking very truncated. The argument doesn't take very long.
Training wins and he steps once back, twice back, then breaks eye contact with the bear as he dives off the trail, taking cover. Fortunately for him, the design of the armour is meant to help in taking cover, in not being noticed, in hoping the bear goes away. Unfortunately for him, his reactions were rather preoccupied with the bear and failed to notice the woman next to it. Rom somewhere off to her left, there is a quiet scrape of metal on metal, the action of a rifle being worked.

The unusual pair reach that distance from him, and whether they notice him or not is questionable, as neither makes any sign of greeting. The bear stops, then rises up on his hind legs, whuffing at the air and taking in the myriad of scents. The gear oil, the trees, the dirt stirred by previous steps, and a hundred other things. It all filters through that black leathery nose and ends up being sorted out. His long pink tongue slips out to lick over his nose, and then he lowers to his paws before ducking his head to touch Monique with it, briefly. The small Inuit woman half kneels again, her fingers touching to a track, her brow furrowing slightly, and she murmurs something softly in her native tongue again before rising up. The trail isn't very old, but she'd like a chance for killing her prey before dark.
Shifting her weight a little, it's the sound of metal scraping metal that draws her attention in the direction it came from. It's an unusual sound, and not one that should be out in the woods. Her expression clears to calm, and she steps forward to stand boldly in front of the great white bear, the beast filling the space behind her. Her dark-eyed gaze searches the direction where the sound had come from, looking for the source of it. She's not afraid to face something, or someone, but she is wary of what might be out in these woods other than the rabbits and deer that she's hunted before.

Night is approaching and the shadows are getting long. Hidden beneath a copse of Balm of Gilead, Mikjel is glad of the shadows. Right now, they're safety, more armour than the actual suit of Coalition armour around him. His breathing slows, he calms his heartbeat, reminds himself that fear can come later, that right now fear will make him hesitate, will make his hands shake. As he takes in what's in front of him. Too close, still too close, but he can see now that the bear is not alone, that maybe, just maybe it wasn't the bear who was tracking him and, if that's the case, the bear's companion can be reasoned with. He draws a deep breath, recalling how to reason with a potential threat and speaks, the armour distorting his voice, making it hollow, stripping it of any warmth that might be there. "I reckon you might want to carry on or go back, or either way, show that you ain't meaning me no harm. See, I'm holding a Lee-Enfield 303, loaded with soft-point hunting ammo. It's just about the pinnacle of old British craftsmanship, even if this one were made by a machine shop up in Inishpeming. Maybe it's an antique, but it's an antique that was used for an entire century. Now, I've also got a little problem. Turned out that the three-oh-three mighta been good against pretty much all the creatures on this earth. Hell, some folk use them to hunt moose, and it's damned hard to kill a moose. But, you see, the three-oh-three ain't no good against two animals. They're both bears. To kill the ours polaire with the three-oh-three, you gotta get a clean shot through the eye. Do that, the bear's brains are gonna end up a soup. Because the problem is, the round ain't heavy enough to break the skull. Means that it'll bounce around in there for a bit. Hit the skull on the way in, though, and you're gonna get a ricochet out. Bullet bounces away, bear kills you before you chamber the next round. My little problem is, I ain't got a clear shot through his eye. But, I reckon that you've got a little problem as well. See, I ain't aiming for the bear. All I'm asking is that you all act in peace. Do that and I'll do the same. Do that, and you all ain't strangers at my camp."
It never occurs to him that maybe a lengthy speech might not be the appropriate medium for reasoning with someone who speaks American as a second tongue. It also doesn't occur to him that some people might consider someone in Coalition armour reasoning with them through polite offers of violence to be more of a threat than a thousand-kilo bear. It did occur to him that there was a point in the speech when the sound of a gun slide would have been appropriately threatening punctuation. That, however, he dismissed, as it would only serve to eject the round.

As the words come, with that hollow and strange sound to them, Monique backs up slightly, having her own minor dilemma in maintaining calm. Behind her, Tornaq rumbles, the sound reassuring to her, and also settling. Tilting her head slightly to one side, she listens to the words as they come, through the armour, and with the techno-babble confusing her, she blinks twice before shaking her head as though attempting to keep her thoughts clear.
She doesn't understand anything he says about his weapon, at least not a thing of the technical side of it. But when he starts talking about killing polar bears, that she starts to understand. Tornaq doesn't make a sign of acting violent, at the moment, which is a good thing. Although he does give a rumble, shifting his weight a little as though waiting. For something. Monique holds her spear, breathing kept in forced calm though her heartbeat races a little beyond normal with all the talk of killing polar bears. Not a happy thought, though she knows that Tornaq will not die. It's simply something that she will not allow to happen, for she knows the consequences of such a thing. She can't help but to give a slight shiver, though, at the mere thought of it.
Keeping her spear in hand, she takes a moment to consider it versus the possibility of it actually going through the armour that she's faced with. Unlikely. "Not kill Tornaq," she says simply, in response to the speech that was delivered to her. She's not typically a woman of many words, is Monique. And this confrontation, of sorts, essentially proves it. "Tornaq not cause hurt, why want kill?" she asks, putting forth the logical question. Of course, she doesn't pay much attention to where he's actually aiming the gun itself, being unfamiliar with that variety of weapon. Logically speaking, if she had wanted to hurt him, she could have done so the last time they had met, and she's not holding her spear in a manner of being ready to throw it. She's saving it for the deer, after all.

Mikjel doesn't move, remaining still, keeping his breaths even and calm as he keeps his sights on the woman. So long as he keeps all his attention focused on her, he can ignore what the white shape behind her, ghostly in the grey half-light, is. His finger isn't in the trigger. That would be foolish. If it were, he might shoot by mistake. He repeats, more simply, in a level and calm voice, "All I'm asking is that you carry on. Nothing more. If you carry on, I know you ain't meaning to be a threat. If you carry on, I go back to my truck and I lock up my gun. Then I start a fire, and you all are welcome to share it. That's all I'm asking."

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side as she considers this shorter speech by him, her dark eyes lingering on him. Watching him, even as she mulls it over. One of her eyebrows quirks upwards slightly at the last part of it, and then she gives a small and simple nod. "Fair," she says simply, then lifts her free hand to reach behind her and touch Tornaq's leg, briefly. Her hand lowers to her side, and she takes another step back before turning and stepping amongst the trees. Tornaq is like a white shadow behind her, though the bear casts a backward glance towards the man in armour before giving a whuff of air through his nose. A few quick steps are taken, to follow Monique, and they go back to their own hunt. Further out in the woods, their deer is grazing on the underbrush so plentiful amongst the trees.

For a long time, all is silent. The shadows mix and pool until they make up nothing but dark. Mikjel remains still, letting them cover him fully. Somewhere inside, a part of him is pointing out his folly. Not at what happened before, but at the fact that he learned the trail in the light, and that it's going to be harder to follow it now.
Quietly, he gets to his feet, removing the cartridge from his rifle as he does. He moves back onto the trail, glancing carefully around himself as he does. Considering, he realises that he is now downwind of the bear and can't smell it. That knowledge reassuring him, he heads back down the trail. After a minor dispute between his helmet and a low tree branch, he stops to pull out a pocket torch, using its light to find his way back to the ATV. When he gets back, he places the gun inside the vehicle and stands, for a long moment, leaning against the door frame as he stares at it. Finally sets to collecting brush by torchlight and clearing a space in the centre of the clearing before building a small fire.

Little in the way of sounds comes from out in the woods, from amongst the trees. The normal sounds of animals scampering around, of course, and birds up in the tree's branches. To break the quiet, there comes the sort of squealish braying emitted from the throat of a dying deer, and a flock of birds suddenly takes to wing. Blood spills to the forest floor, from a single cut made in the deer's neck, the cut done after a few words of Inuit are quietly spoken to usher the deer's spirit back to the creator. To thank the animal for its sacrifice.
Quiet descends again, the birds resettling themselves amongst the tree branches again. After a while, despite the dark, the sounds of an approach can be heard, of something being dragged as Monique and Tornaq make their way towards the flickering light cast out by the fire. Once to the clearing, the great white bear, only slightly blooded himself, settles to his rump as Monique pulls the deer a little further in before stopping herself, breathing heavily from the effort. Small though she might be, she also has a fair amount of strength to put to use.

The fire is small and, as it grew, was banked with stones and earth. It barely illuminates the clearing, and would not be seen from much further away, placed as it is so that the ATV is between it and the path in from the road.
As Monique enters, dragging the deer, Mikjel looks up from his seat beside the fire. He has removed his helmet and gloves, setting them beside him, and looks rather like a compost heap with a face and hands. Seeing the deer, he makes a small "Oh" of surprise, then looks a little further up into the trees. He stands, holding his hands open above the fire, both indicating that he has no weapon and continuing to warm them. As he speeks, his voice is a little strained. "Look, I'm sorry about before, that weren't a neighborly way to act. But I've got a question for you. Have you got a rope? Best to be hanging that deer, get the blood out, that way it won't be spoiling."

Small or not, it's still a fire, and despite having made a kill, Monique is thankful for it. There are other things in the woods, and the fire will at least help towards keeping them away, with the darkness having come. A smile touches at the corners of her lips, and she gives a small nod. "Share deer. Much meat," she says softly, her dark eyes studying him for a moment. Reaching to her side, she draws the knife from there, then steps over to the deer, lowering to one knee at the neck of the animal. She makes the cut there deeper, cutting the main artery and watching for a moment as blood comes from within the carcass. "Not have rope. Not expect deer," she explains, a smile touching her lips as she looks to the armoured man, her eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Hide good, whole. Hole only here, from spear, from teeth," she says, lifting her knife to point to the spot at the deer's neck where the spear punctured and where Tornaq's teeth had impacted. "Is okay, before. I not blame," she says softly, looking to him again and offering a smile. Understanding, at least, that keeping one's self safe is most important out here. Or anywhere, really.

Mikjel nods, bending down and taking a length of rope from his backpack. "Didn't want you to think I was planning treachery when I reached into my bag." He looks back up at the branch that he'd been looking at earlier, about ten metres up. Weighing it carefully, he swings the rope in a slow circle and lobs it up at the branch. It falls at his feet. Muttering, he picks up a glove, tying the end of the rope to it and trying again. This time, he has to tug on the rope hard to get the glove back. A third attempt misses completely. He fixes Tornaq with an even gaze and says, patiently, "It's a lot harder than it looks, all right. Besides, you ain't got no thumbs, so I don't see you doing any better." Glaring up at his newfound nemesis, he sets his stance, determined not to be defeated by the tree branch. Determination fails to prove fruitful, as that attempt leaves him didging a falling gauntlet. Persistence, on the other hand, does, as somewhere around the tenth attempt, the rope arcs over the branch and lands on the ground. "There. Sorry to keep you all waiting. Luckily, what I've got on is soup, and soup ain't likely to burn." And indeed, on the fire is a battered soup kettle. "Good time of day for deer, if you know where they bed. Was hoping myself to sight one, but I ain't having my luckiest of days."

A soft chuckle comes from her, and then she gives a small nod. "Would know if meant bad," she comments, her tone holding a thoughtful note to it. Tornaq is given a meaningful look at that, and the great white bear whuffs a breath as though to agree to something unspoken. While the man sets about getting the rope in position, Monique at least doesn't watch the failed attempts, though she does glance in his direction more than once during them. She busies herself with starting on the butchery of the carcass, which at this point mainly involves cutting off the head so that when its hung it'll bleed free.
Tornaq, however, does watch, and he seems to adopt this bear-ish type grin, watching the end of the rope sail up... then down. When it's finally successful, he gives himself a bit of a shake, then settles to grooming the small bits of blood from the fur of his front paws, not that it's much or his. Monique's gaze turns to first Tornaq, and then Mikjel, and she smiles warmly, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Soup good. Can add deer, if want. And things," she offers, a bit of a blush touching her cheeks.
She wipes the knife off, then reaches to a leather satchel that she'd had with her, lifting it free to offer it to him. Inside are some herbs, and some 'wild' vegetables that she harvested while on the way to the hunt. "Tornaq often find. Nose good. Find track," she says thoughtfully, smiling at him again.

Walking over to the deer, Mikjel ties the end of the rope to its hind legs. He pulls haed in the knot, then readjusts it so that it lies below the deer's knees. The second attempt holds and he walks back to the other end, grunting as he laboriously hauls the carcass into the air, until it dangles about a metre off the ground. He stops there, saying, "Normally, I'd be hauling it a lot higher, so that bears and such can't get at it. But somehow, I don't think that he," a shake of his head toward Tornaq and a slightly confused expression, "is liable to steal it."
He starts to move back, rope in hand, but the deer slips. It's only a few centimetres, but it makes him pause, asking instead, "Would you mind tying off the rope on a tree behind me, please?" As he waits for help, he adds, "What did you get, anyhow? Ain't much growing at this time of year. Maybe get some carrots and the last of the potatoes, but the acorns are gone or rotted, the okra's slimy and the peppers are long-gone. Now, if you've got some artichokes, celery and basil, we might have a meal."

Tornaq watches the man steadily as he goes about the task of hanging the deer, and he remains settled on his rump. He makes no effort towards stealing any of the deer, for he knows he'll get his fair share of it when the time comes. Patience, after all. Monique quirks a bit of a grin, and then she gives a nod. "Tornaq not steal. Tornaq get share, help hunt. He know," the small woman explains. Cleaning the knife a little more thoroughly, she tucks it away into the sheath, and then she rises smoothly to her feet before taking hold of the rope. With the end of it, she takes it to the indicated tree and wraps it around the trunk a couple of times before tying a knot to the best of her ability. It's not the greatest of knots, but it's sort of reminiscent of the type that would be seen on a dogsled. "Tornaq guard kill. He protect," she adds, glancing to the bear first and then to Mikjel, a smile touching her lips again. "I not sure names. Can look, see... use what wish," she offers, giving a nod towards the satchel where she'd left it. Inside are carrots, potatoes, some acorns that are still in good condition, a couple of artichokes, some onions, basil and oregano, and a small celery that she harvested before the bugs infested it, and some seed heads of barley. It's not a bad amount of gathering, really.

Mikjel glances at Monique for permission, then looks through the satchel, selecting a few of the wild carrots, a pair of potatoes, an artichoke and an onion. He walks back toward the fire, picking up the discarded gauntlet as he goes. "It's rabbit broth that I've got stewing. Was running out of rabbit. That's why I came out here. Was cooking her with a bit of rosemary and salt."
He sits down by the fire again, checking on the boiling water. "But the roots will go good with her, and can use the acorns to make a little bit of some kind of bannock, if I try. As to making it taste good, well, I ain't too picky about my grub, so you might want to be the one adding the spices." As he talks, he pulls out a long knife and begins peeling potatoes and chopping carrots.

Mikjel continues chopping vegetables, adding the onion to the pot, but setting the carrot, potatoes and artichoke aside. After stirring the pot with a stick, he splashes some water on two rocks, washing them as best he can and begins to crush the acorns between them. "I figure, if I can get them to flour, can mix them with the broth and cook some bannock. If not, can always toss them in the pot."

Taking a moment to watch him, the small Inuit woman shows a hint of curiosity before a smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "Is good idea. Sometimes, bone work for crush. Grind sometimes better if have good rock," Monique says softly, tilting her head slightly to one side and lifting her gaze to him from the work he's doing. She takes out her knife, her dark-eyed gaze falling to the edge, which she tests briefly with the pad of her thumb. Satisfied with it, she steps over to the deer carcass there where it hangs and begins the process of skinning it, putting the effort into keeping as much of the hide whole as possible. To be able to use as much of the kill as possible. Tornaq watches her, waiting, though his ears move frequently, a portion of his attention held on his surroundings.

Mikjel nods, working away at the stubborn nuts as he chats. "I've seen folk use a thighbone for this, or the hubcap of an old car. Just about anything flat'll work, so long as it ain't poisoned or radioactive." Grinding nuts is slow by hand, but he wasn't planning to be doing so, hence his lack of a food processor. "One thing we all used to do was wrap up a shank or such in foil and tie it to the engine of our truck. Cooks slow, and once you've drove all day, the meat's flaking off the bone. But then, I guess folk will cook food with whatever they've got on hand."

Glances to him, and then she gives a small nod. "Yes. Have rock for that. Not bring. Not expect find nuts," she muses, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. Her attention returns to her task of skinning the deer, and it doesn't really take her more than a few minutes to have done the part that she can reach of it, which when standing on her toes is at least nearly all of it. Even with bloodied fingers, her work with the knife is sure and certain. Like she's done this same thing a hundred or more times. Tornaq finds a solution for the problem, though, rising on his hind legs to carefully apply pressure on the rear of the deer, pushing it down. It's enough pressure to bend the branch above without breaking it, and enough to bring the deer down that little bit more for Monique to be able to finish the job of skinning it. Finishing quickly enough with skinning, she carries the hide over nearer the fire, to lay it out where the heat of the fire will dry the meat left stuck to it. "I not drive, so... not know. Not know 'foil', either," she says thoughtfully, frowning a little. She hasn't come across foil, and so it's not been a word she's needed to know. "If want, can dry part deer for you?" she offers, raising an eyebrow slightly as her dark-eyed gaze settles on him, lingering this time.

Mikjel is paying attention to the acorns, replying, "Foil. Like a sheet paper, only made from tin." He finishes grinding and looks at the acorns, making pensive noises and gesturing with his hands for a few moments, eyes half-closed as he thinks. Finally, he shakes his head, announcing, "No, ain't gonna work." Then, realising that he didn't say out loud what he was thinking about, adds, "There ain't nowhere to put a piece of meat on a bike or snowmobile that'll work. Only place where you're gonna get enough heat is by putting it on the exhaust, and then your meat is gonna taste like, well, exhaust." He looks up, catching her gaze and smiling. "That would be great, yeah. Or, if you wanna toss a little bit in the pot, I ain't added the veggies yet, so it can keep cooking."

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side as she looks to the deer, and she gives a thoughtful sort of nod, though whether it's in response to something he said or not is debatable. Her attention returns to him, and she blinks a little, her brow furrowing slightly. "Exhaust?" she asks, puzzled and confused by the unfamiliar term. Rising to her feet again, she offers a smile and then a nod. "Will cut some for pot. Will dry some," she affirms, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. Still with her knife in hand, she doesn't return to the deer's carcass, interestingly enough. Her attention instead turns to the trees and underbrush in the area. And she starts to cut some thin branches, most getting cut at a particular length though a few of them get cut longer.
Returning to the fireside, she lays out the three longer pieces, with particular spacing. Then she takes the shorter pieces and sort of weaves them among the longer ones -- one branch will be above the two on the outside and tucked under the one in the middle while the next will be the opposite, to ultimately create a sort of drying rack. With the help of some y-branches, Monique sets it up at a slight slant next to the fire, so that the side further away is higher than the side closest to the fire.

Mikjel scrapes the crushed acorn into a small pile. It's not flour and it's not much. With a shrug, he turns around and rummages in his bag, pulling out a closed metal canister. Opening it, he reveals some white powder that he mixes with the acorns. As he closes the container, he looks over at her with some amount of amused chagrin, saying, "Biscuit mix. Were my original plan, but I thought I'd be trying my hand with the acorns." That added, he makes a well in the pile of flour, adds water from his canteen and quickly kneads it into a stiff dough. "Could you pass me a stick or two, please?" He pauses, then asks, "By the way, what were you planning on with the deer, anyway? Drying it, or were you going to try to get it back to town and freeze it?"

Since she gathered up extra sticks than what she needed, it's an easy request to fulfill, and so she offers him a couple of the sticks she'd cut for cross-pieces. "Acorns give flavour," she says softly, a smile tugging at her lips. She watches him for a moment as he works with the dough. A glance is cast towards the deer's hanging carcass when he mentions it, and then she lifts one of her shoulders in a faint shrug. "Will dry some, with herbs on. Make jerky. Will dry some plain. Not cold enough freeze yet. Snow better. Make... 'saigut'," she explains, her brow furrowing at not knowing the word she wants. "Make... wrap meat, make pile, make stones on top. Cover meat, keep safe. Sometimes, dig ground first," she adds, giving a small nod and hoping he understands what she means. "May salt some. Is much meat," she muses, considering the options. With that said, she rises to her feet and makes her way back towards the carcass, to start the actual butchery of the meat.

Mikjel takes the sticks and wraps a strip of the bread around each, holding them near the fire and turning them slowly. "I guess we all'll see about the flavour. May be that it'll work, may be that it won't." He watches her work, a relaxed smile crossing his face. As he does, he tries to understand what she means. "So, you wrap it, put it in a hole, then pile stones over top? I guess you'd dry it first or something, right? I get the rest, but I ain't sure what you mean by saygut. I figured you all would make pemmican. Pound the meat thin, chop it up and mix it with salt and berries."

Turning her head to look to him, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and then she gives a small nod. "Yes. Wrap meat first, use hide. Stones keep animals from finding. In Far North, do often. Not need dry first. Unless grow season. Then dry. Other times, snow keep frozen, not need dry," she explains. Finishing with cutting out a section of meat, she brings it over to the hide and sets it there before starting on the task of cutting it into cubes for going in the pot. "Saigut is inuktitut word. Not know English word. Is word for make rocks on meat to keep safe," she says, a smile touching her lips. "Make pemmican, yes. Dry meat, then make small piece. Mix dry berries, salt, melted fat. Make squares, for take travel," she adds, using her hands to show about the size of the squares that get made. "Keep long time," she comments, glancing to him briefly before continuing with the cutting.

Mikjel nods happily, grinning at her. "Yeah. I know pemmican. It's for when you don't want the meat going bad, ever." He retrieves his sticks from the fire and inspects them. The bread is dark brown and has risen into a sausage shape. He offers her the 'handle' end of one of the sticks, grinning and saying, "Yeah, I don't think you'd get away with that down here. Once it's dried and salted, sure, but the ground ain't gonna freeze proper, so the meat's just gonna turn elsewise." He takes a small bite off the other piece of bread, wincing as it burns his tongue a little, but still chewing and swallowing it. "Well, it ain't awful. Guess it's good if you all like salt and bitter, but it'll do." As an afterthought, he adds, "I guess you'd call a saygut a cache in American. In Quebecois, it'd be an inukshuk."

"Yes, pemmican keep meat long time. Good for use make soup," Monique says, a smile tugging her lips. At the offer of the bannock, her smile brightens a bit more, and she reaches out to claim the stick. Careful not to get blood from her hands onto his, and not caring if it ends up on the stick. "Thank you. Is smell good," she comments, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them.
Settling to her knees, she sets her knife aside, near to the piece of meat she'd been working on. She blows a little on the bannock before taking a bite of it, moving it around her mouth some to try not to burn her tongue while it cools enough to be chewed and swallowed. "Is good," she says, giving a small nod to agree with what he's said about it.
She tilts her head slightly to one side, considering what he's said, and then she faintly shakes her head. "Inuksuk inuktitut word. Use for cover meat, yes. But, use for mark trail, and mark good hunt. Sometimes use help herd... like deer, but big. Inuktitut word tuttu, not know English," she explains, her brow furrowing a little.

Mikjel nibbles at the bread. "Folk over in Quebec sometimes use them to mark trails too, yeah. And it does sound like it started out belonging to you all. Sure ain't Quebecois sounding. As for big deer, there's moose and there's, um, caribou. If I had to guess, I'd say caribou, though, as a moose ain't gonna be happy unless it's got a swamp nearby." His pronunciation of 'caribou' rolls the R and it took him a moment to recall the word.
After a moment, and another bite of the bannock, he grins. "And I reckon if you were talking about moose, you'd have said ornery... angry, instead of big. Scary bastards, moose." The last words remind him of someone and he glances over at Tornaq, then back at Monique, a brief look of concern crossing his face. "Does he maybe want a piece of venison? Figure we've got a bit to wait before it's stewed."

Taking another bite of the bannock from off the stick it cooked on, she then reaches out to stab the handle part of the stick into the ground, to hold it for her. Then she goes back to cubing up the venison before deeming it to be enough. Gathering up the cubes of it, she carefully reaches out to place them into the pot with the rest of the stew. The rest of the piece of meat gets cut into thin slices before she lays them out onto the drying rack.
She then makes her way back towards the hanging carcass before turning to look at Mikjel, and she grins. "Tornaq get next piece. Like liver, like heart. Often give, for help. He know wait," she says, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. She uses her knife to make a slit in the belly of the beast -- enough to have access but not enough for things to fall out. She retrieves the two bear-favoured pieces, then sets them on the ground near to the great white bear.
Tornaq, for his part, noses her shoulder before lowering his head to eat. "Not think know moose, if like swamp. Maybe see, once, in travel to here. But not hunt," she muses, her tone holding a thoughtful cast. Her people have been known to hunt dangerous or angry prey before. "Moose angry, like ... wal-rus?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. It's not a word she's had a need to use very often, and the unfamiliarity with it shows. Her attention turns back to the deer carcass and to the butchery of the meat. More of it ends up cut in thin slices and put onto the drying rack, while other parts of it end up cut into roast sized pieces and set onto the hide, and still more of the meat ends up cut into what looks like steaks.

Mikjel stands, giving the stew a stir, then walks over to the carcass. "Moose is like deer, but about yay," he gestures at around head height, between a metre and a half and two metres off the ground, "tall. Weigh a bit less than him." A gesture to Tornaq before he starts helping butcher the deer, following Monique's lead. "Don't really like folk bothering them, and, seeing as a moose can get in a scrap with a pack of wolves and come out winning, or for that matter, that they'll smash cars and houses, most folk who ain't hunting them try and give them a wide berth. Ain't seen a walrus. Were told to stay clear of them, though, seeing as I ain't likely to see one that ain't trying to fight or mate." He is next to her, so that both can see each others' knives in the firelight and there's less chance of an accident. In the same way, small cuts are sliced and dried, large ones placed on the hide.

Monique raises an eyebrow slightly as she looks to where he places his hand, and she blinks a little. "Moose very big," she says softly. It's one animal that she doesn't intend to hunt, just from what she learns about them from him. There's plenty of easier prey available. "Wal-rus angry. Fight if attack. Sharp teeth," she says softly. There's something about her tone that indicates a past history there, a shadow overlaying her words, her knife paused upon the flesh of the deer.
She gives a faint shake of her head, as though to chase such memories away, then offers him a smile and a nod. "Yes. Not get near wal-rus," she affirms. Perhaps surprisingly, she actually blushes a little, ducking her chin a touch when he starts to help with the butchery. She's used having to do it herself. "Thank you, for help," she says softly, looking to him through the veil of her lashes.

Mikjel shrugs, smiling at her. "It's easier with two," is his simple reply. And, while there is a long list of things that he's not all that good at doing, he does seem to show some practice and experience at butchering a deer. For one thing, at no time do his fingers leave his hand. "So, how long have you all been in town, anyhow?" Considering his words, he adds, in a tone meant to be reassuring, "Mostly, just wondering because I ain't sure what all's in these woods these days, and what I don't know is liable to jump out and eat me." He returns to his work, the meat nearly all removed from the deer.

Looking up at him again, she gives another little nod, a smile being offered at the same time. "Easier, yes. Quicker, too," she says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. She does take note of his skill with butchering the deer, finding it pleasant not to have to guide him through the task. Not that she would mind having to do that, either.
She's developed a certain liking for his company. "Mmm... have been in town for many moons. Winter coming will be third winter," she says, raising an eyebrow slightly. "Many things in woods. Will have warning, if anything come," she adds, glancing towards Tornaq before her attention returns to Mikjel, watching him.

Mikjel steps back from the carcass, nodding contentedly at it, now mostly bones and organs. He gives her a smile as he cleans off his knife. "Was from round here, back twenty years ago. Just ain't sure what's changed and what's the same no more." He returns to the pot, stirring it again, then wrapping another pair of biscuits around the sticks, sitting and beginning to cook them. "Sure I'll figure it out. Well, leastwise, I hope I figure out what's different and what's the same before I make some kinda mistake." He shrugs helplessly. "Don't really matter. By the way, I'm gonna add the veggies after I finish these. If you're wanting to add spices, you might want to do so."

Monique looks up at him, a smile touching her lips, and then she gives a small nod. "Many things in forest. Most not bother us," she says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast. Likely due to Tornaq's presence. "I wash hands. Stream not far. Then do spices," she says, quirking a smile as she watches him a moment more. "Have heard there are big lizards... din-o-saurs? ... in woods. Not see, not know. Will take carcass. If something come, will take it," she offers, giving a small nod.
She steps over to the rope first, untying it. This lowers the deer, which she then steps over to before untying the rope from the hind legs. Taking hold of the hind legs, she starts to walk away, dragging it. Tornaq rises up to his feet, gives a rumble, takes two quick steps to catch up to her, then snatches up the carcass from her, to carry it instead. "Will not be long," she adds, looking to Mikjel and giving a nod. They both then start to head off, to deal with the carcass and to get clean hands.

=== Crash === In the intervening two poses, Monique walked into the woods and a figure watched her from the trees.

By the fire, Mikjel stirs the stew. Realising that he has nothing to taste it with, he walks to the ATV, opening it and climbing inside. Flicking his torch on, he rummages around until he finds a mess kit of two dented bowls and two spoons. Turning, he extinguishes his light and starts to clamber out again, finally arriving at the fire and using one of the spoons to taste the stew. To himself, he mutters, "Could do with some pepper.

Meanwhile, out in the woods, the figure in the tree slips a rope from his side and weighs it. Glancing between woman and bear, he licks his lips, sniffing the air. His gaze lingers on the bear. Were it visible, it would be somewhere between hunger and lust. However, when he throws the rope, it is in an attempt to lasso the woman, attempting to separate potential threats from each other, to deal with them separately.

Glancing towards the bear as he takes a drink, a smile touches the small Inuit's lips. Shifting her weight off her knee, she moves to rise and stretch, the movement enough that the rope slithers past her arm. It startles her, and she steps away from it quickly, stumbling a little and falling into the stream. It's enough to bring a startled yelp from her.
Tornaq reaches out to her to snatch her shirt with his teeth, picking her up and putting her back on her feet before his attention goes in the direction of the threat. A growl comes from him, and then he bellows a deep roar, hackles rising and teeth baring. Moving to stand mostly in front of Monique, to give her more of a chance to regain herself, he puts himself into the line of danger to protect her.

There is a muttered curse from the tree and the rope goes slack. After the bear's roar, the forest is suddenly very quiet, but only for a second. There is an immediate responding cry, this one human and from the direction of the ATV. "Threat?" As he shouts, Mikjel is already pulling helmet and gloves on and sprinting toward the vehicle.

From up in the tree, there is a quiet rustling noise before a javelin flies in an arc toward Monique. The figure follows it with his eyes, then scans the area, looking for an escape route. In the clearing, Mikjel reaches into the ATV and grabs a rifle, turning toward the path as he attaches the e-clip.

A hasty murmured word of Inuit accompanies a slight gesture of the fingers of her left hand. Suddenly, the area is illuminated with a globe of daylight, which she hopes will be enough to startle off whatever's up in the trees.
Tornaq gives another roar, snatching up Monique, again with his teeth though this time grabbing at the belt of her pants. The sharp head of the javelin cuts a slash diagonally across Monique's right upper arm, even as she's being moved, and that causes the small Inuit woman to give a startled and pained yelp. Tornaq places her on the stream's bank, which is at least safer than being in the stream itself. "Is up, in trees!" she calls to Mikjel, offering what warning she can give.
Lumbering over to the tree, Tornaq rises on his hind legs and pushes his front paws on the trunk of it, levering his weight alternately on and off the tree, intent on shaking it. To shake out the threat, of course, claws digging into the bark of the tree trunk. She isn't sure what the threat is, and she searches up in the treetops for it.

The figure in the trees is only about two metres up, slight and short and wearing flat black armour, the body made of overlapping plates, the helmet a skull covered in spikes. The lasso is dangling over the branch, discarded. On his back, there is a rifle, from its profile, an energy weapon. Strapped around his waist, there is a large quiver, which contains a second javelin. As the tree begins to rock, said javelin is drawn and thrown, before the figure drops off the branch into the brush beside the path and begins to run. He doesn't look to see where it falls, instead trusting in speed and hindering undergrowth to put distance between him and his quarry.

Mikjel heads for the path at a fast jog, the ATV open behind him and the stew momentarily forgotten. Rifle in hand, flashlight also discarded, he arrives in the circle of harsh daylight just in time to catch a glimpse the figure running into the brush. He wheels and raises his rifle, but is too slow to get a shot off.

Monique frowns a little at what she sees of the figure, her brow furrowing a little bit. It's a strange sight, and she uses her left hand to push herself back to her feet, her gaze lowering to the great white bear. She starts to make her way forward, and thanks to the daylight still filling the area, there's plenty of opportunity to avoid the second javelin thrown. When the figure jumps out of the trees and to the forest floor,
Tornaq rumbles and starts to lumber after, in chase. Yet he doesn't go far before skidding to a stop, snorting a breath and pawing the ground, giving another roar into the night air. Turning, the great white bear lumbers his way back towards where he left Monique. Reaching her, he noses ever so gently at the cut along the length of her arm, looking worried. She murmurs something in her native language, then lifts her good hand to rub a little on his muzzle.

Mikjel pauses, rifle still aimed into the woods after the figure. In the harsh light, his armour has a nearly identical profile, except for the helmet. He glances over his right shoulder, at Tornaq, at Monique's arm, then at the globe of light. He states, "You're injured," in a flat tone, one that might be used to say, "it's Tuesday," then walks to the base of the tree, dropping to a knee and examining where the fleeing individual landed. "CS boots. Had to check. And he was fast." He looks up, back into the woods, then asks, still in a flat, calm voice. "What helmet?" In marked contrast to his earlier movement, he is now on one knee, his back completely exposed to the massive bear.

The small Inuit woman watches him for a moment, keeping her hand on the bear's muzzle. A faint smile touches her lips, and then she gives a small nod. "Yes, little bit," she says softly, ducking her chin slightly. She watches him check the tracks, then raises an eyebrow slightly to the question about the helmet, blinking a moment. Tornaq rumbles softly, nudging his nose against her hand. "Helmet was skull, with spikes. Was... strange," Monique says, her brow furrowing a little bit. Even with Mikjel's back to him, Tornaq remains by Monique, calm but worried. Shifting her weight slightly, the small woman leans against one of Tornaq's front legs, doing nothing about the wound for the moment.

Mikjel gazes out into the woods for a long moment before nodding. "Thought so. Fucking hound." Even the expletive is without emotion, just a word describing the noun, as if the two together were a complete explanation. He turns and shrugs, energy rifle shifting to point at the ground and nowhere near the bear or the woman. After all, he isn't planning to kill them, and only a complete greenie or a dangerous psychotic would point a gun at anyone he didn't want dead.
A touch of warmth returns to his voice as he says, "Soup should be ready, though. Can boil some water and get a bandage on your arm, too. Be a damned fool to let you lose..." He trails off as he suddenly runs over to the spear, grabbing it and inspecting the tip. "Oh thank Her. Ain't nothing on it that looks like poison. Just a sharp stick with some dirt on." Dropping it, he glances at the sky, tapping his fingers on his forehead and chest with a sharp *tick*. He turns back to the pair and asks, as an afterthought, "Tornaq's fine, ain't he?"

Monique takes a moment to look out into the woods, in the direction that the attacker had fled, and she frowns a little bit. Shifting her weight, she eases away from Tornaq's leg, then gives his nose a light pat before stepping over closer to Mikjel. Curious. She stops near to him, then tilts her head slightly to one side, still looking along the path for a moment before she brings her gaze back to Mikjel. "Why he try kill me?" she asks, her brow furrowing as a frown touches her lips.
She blinks a little when his words trail off as they do, confusion touching her when he goes to check the weapon that caused her injury. "Mikjel? What I not know? Why think poison? Tornaq not hurt, he okay. Only me hurt," she says softly, frowning a little. "Should go back fire, soon. Light will die," she adds, raising an eyebrow slightly. She can't recall having done anything to anyone to have gained an enemy, so she's rather confused as to why someone would be trying to kill her.

Mikjel turns and begins to head back toward the clearing, keeping near to Monique and Tornaq, letting out a sound that might be a sigh or just the sound of someone relaxing after holding their breath for a moment before he starts to reply. "It's a hound. A 'psi-stalker'. They're things that used to be human but ain't no more." Without thinking about it, he turns on the safety on his rifle, which is still pointed away from her. "Good of you all not to follow it. That's what it wants. At least, I think that's what it wants. If I were it, I'd rig up a few surprises in the woods, then run." He glances at her, his expression hidden by the skull-shaped face mask. "It ain't trying to kill you. They eat magic. They smell magic. They follow it. Why the army uses them to track down threats. Can smell a big bit of magic a click off." He glances away from her, off into the woods. "There's two things I ain't gonna do tonight. Ain't gonna go into the woods and I ain't gonna sleep under the stars.
If the bastard cares enough to attack, it's either starving or something here smells powerful tasty." He shrugs at her, adding in brief clarification of his jumbled explanation, "It's hunting. It wants you alive, otherwise you're no good to it."

A last glance is cast towards the path the hunter had taken, and then both she and Tornaq start to walk back towards the camp as well. She doesn't mind that Mikjel walks closer to her, finding his presence to be reassuring. She listens attentively to his explanation, giving a small nod at more than one part of it. Tornaq seems to listen as well, rumgling softly and lowering his nose to touch Monique's shoulder, at one point of it. "Tornaq want follow, want kill. But, he come back in case more attack. Not want leave me hurt," she says softly, lifting her good hand to rub the bear in familiar fashion. She takes a moment to look to Tornaq, then frowns before giving a soft sigh. "If it hunt magic, it likely come back. Tornaq, me... both magic," she says thoughtfully, her brow furrowing a little bit. "If not sleep under stars, then where sleep?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly and looking up at Mikjel. If it's power that the hunter is after, it's chosen a good target in the form of Monique and Tornaq. "I not want bring you trouble, Mikjel," Monique says softly, looking up at him through her lashes. The last thing she wants to do is end up with him hurt because of her.

They reach the clearing. The fire is a little lower than when Monique left, but nothing else is disturbed. A lit flashlight lies on the ground. Mikjel retrieves it, turns it off and clips it to his belt. The pot and drying rack are both where they were left, but the bowls and spoons are scattered and the ATV is open. He sets his rifle on the ground, about two metres from the fire, and gathers the utensils, stacking them next to the fire. Finally, he climbs into the ATV, coming back with a shirt that looks, well, 'clean enough' might describe it.
The door clicks shut behind him as he sits, between rifle and fire, removing gloves and helmet again, suddenly regaining a human face, rather than a green-and-brown skull. "Don't know that Tornaq's plan ain't no good. Right now, I want to track it down. It's a threat. Two reasons I ain't: It knows these woods better than me, and I gotta assume that it's better than me. If I don't, it's already winning." He lifts the pot off the fire and scoops some stew into a bowl, offering it to Monique before splashing water into the other. "So, right now, I'm gonna clean you a bandage and you all are gonna eat while we figure out what we're gonna do. I reckon we've got a few options. I can drive you and the deer back to town after we eat, then come back out and check my traps tomorrow. Or, you all can sleep in the truck and I'll sleep on top or underneath. It'll still smell you, but the gun it's got ain't getting through the truck without a lot of shooting. They ain't tougher than humans, though, just smarty and good in the bush."

Once to the clearing, Monique stops and takes a moment to look it over, as though looking for signs of intrusion. Tornaq, as well, lowers his nose and whuffs at the air, to gain the scents here. Yet nothing is unfamiliar, and so the great white bear steps closer to the fire and settles, first on his rump and then to be laying down, giving a wide yawn as he does so. Comfortable, it would seem.
A smile tugs at Monique's lips, and she steps over to where the bear is, settling in the crook of one of his front paws and leaning against him. "Maybe it not attack again. Maybe be afraid to," she says softly, tilting her head slightly to one side as she looks to him, studying him to see what she thinks of the suggestion. She watches him dish up some stew, then gives him a warm smile and a little nod as it's offered, lifting her left hand to accept the bowl. Sitting cross-legged, she settles the bowl into her lap, then gives it a moment to cool before she takes a spoonful, blowing on it a little before eating it. "Is large truck... large enough not have to be on top or under. Can be inside," she points out, raising an eyebrow slightly as she looks to him again. "On honour, Tornaq not hurt unless attacked," she says softly. She takes another bite of the stew, settled and comfortable against the great white bear, who looks towards Mikjel when Monique speaks.

Mikjel adds a few sticks to the fire, poking it until they catch alight. "We know a few things. Was only one. If there were more, the others woulda hit you all in the back. Leastwise, that's what I'd have done. Trying to pull you into the bush, only makes sense if it was only one. After all, you might get wise and not chase." He puts on a glove, taking the bowl of water and placing it on the fire, balancing it on the sticks. "Might attack again, might not. Depends if it's hungry, but they usually are. Magic it can eat ain't easy to find. Depends if it gets a better scent, an easier one."
He takes the shirt and pulls his knife from its sheath. Closer to the fire, what looked like stains are actually patches. The shirt hasn't quite reached the point of being more patch than shirt, but it's getting close. "We all have a few things going for us, though. It ain't gonna shoot to kill. I am, and I'm betting that Tornaq ain't about to pull... to sheath his claws. Might shoot for my head, but I can't eat without a helmet, so if my head explodes, means it's got a shot." He finds a section of the shirt that isn't all patches and draws his knife across it, slicing it into bandages. The bandages are deposited in the not-yet-boiling water.
"Further, longer it goes without eating, the hungrier it gets. A hungry hound starts to get stupid. Same as if you're stuck in a blizzard with no food. Eventually, might start thinking that walking into snow where you can't see a metre is a better plan than waiting it out." He replaces his knife in its sheath, reflexively wiping it on the shirt before doing so, then picks up the remaining spoon and tastes a bit of the stew. "As for sleeping, the truck can fit three people. Four if they're real friendly. Figure you all make three, three and a half. But there's blankets.

Monique watches sparks rise up from the fire when it's stirred up some, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips. It's at odds with the topic at hand, but there's a certain comfort to be found in having a fire. "It stop attack, so... not need chase, even though want chase," she says softly, her gaze resting on the fire. "If let fight, Tornaq fight to death. His... or mine. But, I not let happen. Tornaq must not die," she comments, her tone holding a certain determination to it.
There are consequences to many things, and Tornaq's death has many definitely unwanted side effects for her. She studies Mikjel for a lingering moment, watching as he makes bandages for her wound. She glances towards her upper arm, and the blood still tracking over her skin, then brings her gaze back to him. "Hope for hound make mistake, if come back. Hard say if will, but... Tornaq listen," she says softly, her brow furrowing slightly. "If want sleep in truck, can. Often sleep on Tornaq, fur warm, soft. If Tornaq not take all room, should still be enough for you," she says thoughtfully. She takes a moment to look to the ATV, then back to Mikjel.

Mikjel watches the water, waiting patiently for it to boil. "Plus side, it ain't army. If it were army, ain't no way it'd have been the one to attack, and even then, ain't likely that it'd have been using ropes and spears, not when it's carrying a C-12 on its back. So, I'm thinking it's a deserter. That or it killed a deserter. Ain't sure which one's worse, because they ain't all that fond of folk who kill their kin." He shrugs at her, glancing at the ATV as well, his look of consideration suggesting that he'd be happier inside an armoured vehicle than underneath it. "We'll see. Don't want to discomfort you." The fire shifts, letting up a plume of sparks, and he reaches out to grab the bowl before it spills. "Ain't many who'd want to bunk next to someone who was pointing a gun at them earlier on."
He laughs suddenly, a quick bark, followed by chuckles as he raises his empty hands skyward, then buries his face in them for a second. Laughing helplessly, he says, "Then again, ain't many who'd want to bunk next to ursa maritimus, either." Still laughing, he takes another spoon of soup from the pot, holding it by his face until he calms enough to swallow it without choking. "As for it coming back, well..." he glances around, surveying the clearing, "...I'd shoot out the truck tires. Gives it longer to wear us down, longer to hope we do something stupid. If I were it, that is."
As he says this, a long, ragged scream of pain echoes through the woods, from a ways off, in the same general direction taken by the psi-stalker.

The small Inuit woman listens, considering what he says about what had attacked her. Her brow furrows a little bit, and as she thinks things over, she eats more of the soup that he'd made. Tornaq rumbles softly in approval with her eating, but is otherwise quiet, keeping his head up and his attention on their surroundings. A smiel tugs at the corners of her lips, and she faintly shakes her head. "Is not discomfort to me," Monique says, her words reflecting a thoughtful tone to them. His laughter about sleeping with a polar bear is enough to bring a chuckle from her, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Tornaq stay wake night, watch, listen. Can sleep and no fear. He wake if trouble come," she adds, quirking a smile as she watches him.
Then come the scream from the distance, and she gives a little shiver, the spoon slipping from her fingers to fall into the bowl, and she turns to look in the direction of it. Her dark eyes are a little wide, but she doesn't make to get up.
Tornaq, too, looks in that direction, though he remains next to Monique, his nose lifted to catch what hints of scents will come. "It hunt...?" she asks quietly. Wary of it, but at the same time, it's morbidly reassuring since it could mean the hound was successful in finding different prey.

Mikjel looks up, in the direction of the scream, then back at the bowl of water and bandages on the fire. He shrugs. "Ain't our concern. If it's hunting, it's too far away for us to help." The water begins to bubble a little, so he dons the armoured glove again, holding the bowl still. "It it's faking, we all would be fools to give chase. Besides, can hope that it was screaming for real, because if it were, we ain't going to be troubled by it no more."
After a few minutes of letting the water boil, he takes the bowl off the fire, setting it down beside the circle of earth and stones. "Let that cool, then can wash out the wound. Ain't great, but I'm sure there's a doc back in town who'll give you a better treating." He removes the glove and recovers his spoon, taking another mouthful from the pot.

Monique forces her attention away from the direction of the scream, bringing it back to Mikjel again. Tornaq gives a soft rumble, lightly touching her uninjured shoulder with his black nose. A smile touches slightly at the corners of her lips, and then she gives a small nod of agreement. "True, yes. Is too far away to help," she affirms, her tone thoughtful.
She glances to the boiled bandages, and then she gives a small nod, a smile touching her lips. "Have herbs, here, can use treat wound. Not need stitches," she muses, raising an eyebrow slightly. She picks up her spoon again and starts back to eating the soup in her bowl. "Not think need doctor," she comments, ducking her chin slightly. Of course, seeing a doctor would mean going to a hospital and being inside a building often means being without Tornaq, which she would rather not have happen.

Mikjel nods at her, smiling as he swallows a little more stew. "I ain't gonna pretend that I know anything more about doctoring than how to keep a wound clean. If you've got something you think is gonna help, then by all means. After all, you ain't dead, so you must be doing something right." His eyes fall to the wound on her arm. "Don't know that you need stitches, but the spear, well, it ain't the cleanest thing I've ever seen. Were it in my arm, I'd likely want a shot to keep the fever out." He shrugs, looking her in the eyes again, his expression serious. "That said, it ain't my arm, and I don't know if you've got ways to fix it that I don't get."

Tornaq, it would seem, is listening to what Mikjel has to say, judging by the fact that his ears are turned in the man's direction. The great white bear gives a soft rumble, touching his nose to her shoulder again and giving a gentle nudge. Monique raises an eyebrow slightly and studies the bear for a moment before settling the stew bowl in her lap so she can lift a hand to rub his muzzle. Her dark-eyed gaze returns to Mikjel, and a blush creeps its way to her cheeks, her chin ducking slightly.
"Keep wound clean is big part of heal. Will show what use, share know," she says softly, raising an eyebrow slightly as she looks to him. Reclaiming her spoon again, she starts to eat more of the stew, enjoying it, it would seem, as well as the pieces of bannock that she broke up and put into the stew to absorb the broth. "Have had wound fever. Not want again," she says softly, a small smile touching her lips. Her gaze lingers on Mikjel for a long moment before lowering to the stew again, which she stirs a bit before eating again.

His spoon left by the fire, Mikjel pours a little of the hot water over his hands, washing them again. "It's cool enough that you ain't gonna get burnt. If you all don't mind, may I wash out the wound before you show me? Probably easier if I do it, seeing as it clipped your arm." He nods, a flash of recognition crossing his face as he meets her eyes.
"I ain't had it. Dealt with it though. Friend sliced his foot open going through a bit of muskeg. Figured that he was all big and strong, so didn't tell no one about it. Well, he was all big and strong, so I didn't notice till he fell down and couldn't stand up no more." He shifts a little closer, holding the bowl of water and cloth, either offering it to her or waiting for her permission.

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side as she watches him use the water on his hands, and she gives a small nod, her dark eyes reflecting a sparkle within them. "I not mind. Easier if you do, yes," she agrees, a smile touching her lips. "Will show, after clean. Will need little of hot water for make. Then can use on wound," she says, raising an eyebrow slightly as she watches him.
"Have seen others die from wound fever, or lose parts. Can be bad, if not tended," she muses, her brow furrowing a little. She finishes with the last of her stew, then sets both the bowl and spoon aside. A glance is given the wound, bloody as it is, and then she turns her attention to him again, watching him, a smile touching her lips.

The bowl has a few rags and bandages in it. Mikjel sets it next to Monique, kneeling beside her. He picks up a rag, saying to her, "Gonna wash off the blood first." Resting his left hand on her shoulder, to hold the arm still without jostling the wound, he gently dabs away the dried blood around it. That rag gets set aside and he picks up a second. Quietly, he says, "Now I'm gonna wash it out. Probably gonna hurt." The last makes him pause a moment, look at the bear and say, "Tornaq, I'm gonna clean Monique's wound. I might hurt her, but it's to keep her from hurting more." He squeezes her shoulder softly, then, holding her arm still, begins to clean the cut with the warm cloth. At first, he glances at the bear for a reaction, then at Monique, but ends up focusing his attention solely on what he's doing, refusing to let himself be distracted by that worry any longer.

As Mikjel settles next to her, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips, her dark-eyed gaze lingering on him, watching him. Tornaq, as well, pays attention to the man, though first snuffs at the bowl with the rags in it. A little rumble sounds from him, but it doesn't seem in complaint or disagreement to the man's actions. To his words, Monique gives a little nod, having suspected that to be the first step in the process.
While most people would likely rather not watch such a thing be done, the small Inuit woman is different. She watches. She doesn't flinch or anything as he cleans the dried blood away, remaining still and calm through it all. Then when he mentions cleaning out the wound itself, she tilts her head to one side before giving a small nod. It's when he addresses Tornaq that she smiles at him again, quite pleased that he took that moment's worth of time to do so.
His words are rewarded with a rumble of sound from the bear, and then a nod, as though the bear understood each word. The bear remains calm and watchful through the process, attention on the wound and what Mikjel does. Monique winces a little at first, the mucles of her arm giving a slight flinch as the wound is aggravated by being cleaned, but she's otherwise quiet, a willing patient to his doctoring.

Mikjel finishes cleaning the wound, squeezing her shoulder again as she flinches, a murmured reassurance leaving his lips. Setting the rag aside, he inspects the wound. "It don't look too bad. Gonna be a scar, but you ain't been acting like someone with actual damage." Looking her in the eyes and smiling softly, he releases her arm, sitting back on his knees. "Think I'm all done. Got the bandage still sitting in the bowl, though, as I ain't got nowhere to put it where it ain't gonna get dirty. Guess it's time for you to do what you needed." He shrugs at her. "Can help, though, if you need a spare hand or two." Looking over at Tornaq, he adds, "Thank you for understanding."

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side as she looks to him, a flicker of curiosity showing in her dark eyes. "Not mind have scar. Have others, some," she says softly, a smile touching at the corners of her lips. She glances to the wound, then looks again to the man tending it for her, smiling warmly at him. With having been aggravated, the wound starts to bleed a little, a crimson line of blood appearing along the length of it. Monique uses mostly her uninjured arm, that hand reaching to her belt to a small leather pouch there. She removes it from her belt, then opens it to take out what looks like a small rock bowl. It looks a little worn, but still good. She offers this to him. "Hold, please?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. The pouch has been set aside, to the ground, and she's willing to take up his offer of help.

Mikjel shifts to sit, his legs crossed beneath him. He takes the bowl from her hand, his fingers brushing hers before he cradles it in his own. He supports it with both hands, holding it out toward her so that she can reach it easily, but ensuring that he can hold it without dropping it if she needs to mix or grind something. He watches her motions curiously, his eyes following her hands even as his body remains still and relaxed.

The small woman smiles warmly at him as he accepts the bowl, and she gives a small nod. "Thank you," she says softly, a sparkle showing in her dark eyes. She reaches then to her belt again, this time taking off a pouch which has been made of an otter's skin that appears to have been gutted while keeping the skin whole. She undoes it, then starts to take out different little pouches of herbs. Sorting through them, she sets aside the ones that she wants and puts the others back. Of the ones she wants, she opens and takes a leaf or two.
The leaves have been dried, and she shows him each in turn before placing it in the bowl. "I not know names, in your tongue, for plants," she says, apologetically, a blush creeping to her cheeks. She describes, as best she haltingly can, the plants the leaves come from, for him to better know their names. A short wooden rod is taken out of the pouch where the stone bowl came from, and this she offers to him as well. It's smooth, one end rounded and a little mushroomed. "Grind leaves, then add little water," she says softly. He'll learn better, she knows, if he does it rather than if she does it. "Want keep thick."

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side, and then she gives a small nod, accepting that he doesn't know them either. "Is okay. Know by sight. Tornaq know by smell. If see, will show live plant," she says softly, a thoughtful tone to her voice. "Not for eat, yes. But, good on wound," she adds, a smile tugging her lips.
She watches the work he does, then, in grinding the herbs, then to his question, her brow furrows a little. "Mmm... not need be hot, but, better if hot," she replies, giving a small nod. A smile tugs her lips, and she glances to Tornaq, who is being quiet and merely watching the work being done. Though the great white bear does whuff a little near the bleeding wound, yet he's careful not to touch it.

Mikjel glances over at the bear as he makes a sound, then back to the bowl. Holding the mortar and pestle in one hand, he touches the water in the bowl by his knee. He shakes his head, saying, "It's lukewarm now, and I at least know that the water in my canteen's been filtered." That said, he picks up his canteen again and tips a little bit of water into the bowl. He mixes it with the herbs for a little while, looks at it, and adds a little more water. After a little more work, he has a thick green paste. That, he examines thoughtfully, sniffing a little as he does, to best memorise the combination of plants. Finally, knowing that it's easier to thin it than to thicken it again, he looks up at her and asks, "Is that good, or should I be adding more water?"

Lifting her uninjured hand, Monique softly rubs Tornaq's fur, a familiar movement on their part. The bear gives a soft rumble of enjoyement to the touch, but other than that remains calm and settled. She pays attention to the amount of water he adds to the herbs, watching as he mixes it in. She smiles warmly at him, and then gives a small nod, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Is good, yes. No more water, want like that," she says, pleased with the results. "Will want use all. Spread on wound, then can bandage. Will help heal," she adds, a smile tugging at her lips again.

Mikjel nods, smiling back. He kneels, setting the stone bowl on the ground beside her. The last of the water from his canteen is used to rinse his hands and then he leans forward, again holding her shoulder with his left hand, but shifting to make sure that she can watch. With his right, he carefully spreads the paste into and around the wound, glancing at her as he does both for reaction and to make sure that he is doing this correctly. Once the stone bowl is empty, he takes the bandage from the battered tin bowl and ties it securely around the injury, loose enough that it won't cut circulation, but securely enough that it won't slip. He sits back again, letting her check it.

And watch him, Monique does. As he dishes out the paste and as he applies it to the wound, not needing to give any sort of direction during the process. Tornaq also watches, which is likely expected, at this point, for he's watched each part of it all unfold. The main drawback to the herbal concoction is that it stings on an open wound, and as it does, the muscles of her upper arm twitch a little bit.
The small Inuit woman winces and ducks her chin, blinking a few times quickly. The warmth and dampness of the bandage help to ease the stinging of the paste, though, and she does relax again, even if it does take a long moment to do so. A blush creeps to her cheeks, and she gives a little nod, not really seeing a need to check it since she watched him bandage it all up for her.
"Is good, yes. Leave bandage one night, one day, then free, unless bleed again. If more blood, then do again," she comments, her tone holding a thoughtful note to it. Tornaq lowers his nose to lightly touch her shoulder before whuffing at her hair a little, his own way of reassuring her.

Mikjel nods, saying, "You'll have to show me which plants those were someday." He cleans the paste off of his hands and out of her bowl with the water that was previously in the bandages, then glances around the clearing. "Trying to figure out what all ought to be taken in tonight," he says, by way of explanation. The fire has burned low by this point, and it provides only faint illumination. The deer is a red and grey skeleton in this light, twisting slowly. He gathers stewpot and bowls before stopping, looking at the drying rack. "I reckon some of that's gonna end up stolen if we leave it out, ain't it? Especially if Tornaq's bunking in the truck."

"Will show if see, promise," the small Inuit comments, a smile brightening her features. She watches him clean things up, and once the bowl is cleaned, she reaches out to reclaim it and the grinding rod, tucking both away in their pouch. This gets tucked back on her belt, as does the otter-skin pouch. "Mmm... can use hide, wrap cuts in. Tie with legs of hide. Will keep, overnight. No spoil. Take coals, make long like rack. Move rack over coals. Animal not want touch, meat dry. If animal steal, only be outside pieces. Need stay near heat to dry," she says thoughtfully, considering the dilemma herself.
It's a different way of thinking, as she's used to Tornaq remaining within sight of any part of kills that she's made, his presence enough to keep them safe. "If something come, Tornaq hear. Tornaq warn. Wake if must," she adds, giving a small nod. She has faith in the great white bear.

Mikjel nods in understanding and puts on his gloves again. He starts by clearing the wet fallen leaves from around the fire, then, once the ground is bare, moves some of the hot rocks away, setting them on the damp ground, where they sizzle and cool. The embers, he spreads into a rough rectangle slightly smaller than the drying rack. Exposed to the air, they flare slightly, a few sparks alighting on his armour and flickering light illuminating the clearing.
As the shadows change, he glances around, but sees nothing threatening in them. A moment passes as he compares rack and coals, then realises that a spark has managed to light one of the cloth strips attached to his armour on fire. The strip is torn free and let fall, to flutter down onto the embers.

Monique rises to her feet, not as gracefully as she might normally, using Tornaq to push against in the process. She stretches a little, gingerly. It's been a long day, but then for her, it started before the dawn. Watching him shift around the embers, she turns and steps towards the deer's hide. Gathering the front right leg part of the hide, she matches it to the left hind leg part, tying them together tightly. Then she does the same with the other legs of the hide, to make a neat sort of bundle with the meat inside.
She's about to try to pick it up when Tornaq lumbers over and grumbles at her, lowering his nose to carefully pick it up by the knots, carrying it instead. He won't, it seems, allow her to use the newly bandaged arm in a way that would cause it to bleed again.

While Tornaq picks up the makeshift bag, Mikjel rearranges the forked sticks and flat branches that make up the drying rack, placing them so that they're above the embers. He presses down on them, just to make sure, then says, "Ought to be able to hold the weight." He steps back, picking up the stew pot and placing it on the roof of the ATV. The bowls and spoons, he carries inside. There, he stores them in a cabinet, before hopping out to collect helmet and rifle. Back inside once more, he stores them safely away. A moment passes and another, then there's a muffled expletive from inside.
He exits again, having just realised that the cab of the vehicle is over a metre off the ground, high enough that someone with a hurt arm might have trouble getting in. "Can give you a boost up," he says, looking a little chagrined.

Monique raises an eyebrow slightly as she looks up at the great white bear, no doubt considering scolding him for not letting her pick it up herself. Ultimately, though, she doesn't. And instead, she reaches out with a hand to ruffle his fur a bit. The two of them start to walk towards his vehicle, doing so with a little bit of wariness simply from the unfamiliarity with such things.
Tornaq gives a rumble, then carefully settles the bundle of meat up on the roof of the ATV, letting it take the weight gradually. He stays near to it, in case it needs to be lifted, but once it seems to safe and secure there, he steps back and gives himself a shake off.
Monique steps over towards Mikjel, to where he waits, and she tilts her head to one side. "Help good, yes. Thank you," she says warmly, smiling at him. She accepts the help without arguing, at least, which is always a good thing.

Mikjel bends and laces his fingers together, providing a step for her. "I put the blankets down in the back. Like I said, ain't much room, so you might want to move them so that you all fit better." He shrugs, glancing over at Tornaq, then into the vehicle. "Likely, he'll want to get between the seat and the right door. Bit of a tight fit, but can leave the door open a bit, in case he starts to feel, er, confined." A brief look of worry expresses all he has to say about being confined with a large, claustrophobic bear trying to escape, or how he feels about being between said bear and a way out. "I'll toss the back on the rack again while you all get settled, I guess."

Interesting that he should be concerned about being confined with a large and claustrophobic bear but not be concerned about being confined with a small and claustrophobic shaman. Monique steps closer, then lifts her left foot to place it into the step he's created for her, turning to smile at him, looking through her lashes a little. "Will do what can, with space there. Leave door open little bit good. Bring fresh air in," Monique says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast. "Not take long, be settle," she adds, smiling at him again. She has faith that the great white bear will fit himself where he deems the best place for protecting them all.

Mikjel looks up at her, nodding before giving her a boost into the ATV. "Seeing as you all ain't liable to think that it's cold down here, might roll the driver's side window down a bit too." He walks over to the bag, hefting it and cayying it over to the drying rack. He lowers it gingerly onto the rack, which shifts beneath the weight of the meat. Lifting the hide again, he sets it aside, making sure that the rack is firm and solid, rather than spilling the venison into the cooling remnants of the fire.
"Likely be for the best, anyway. Truck smells of grease and dust. Ain't exactly aired it since hauling parts in the back." The rack slightly altered, he sets the bag on it again, this time finding that, this time, it sits securely and he releases his grip, waiting and watching to make sure that it doesn't move. After no motion from the inanimate objects in front of him for a while, he turns and walks briefly to the edge of the clearing, standing there for another few moments.

"Not get cold easy, not mind," Monique says lightly, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. With his help, she steps up into the ATV, then turns to give him a smile before stepping a little further within. Taking a look over the space as though considering it, and the blankets laid out further in the back. Wiggling her nose a little as dust teases it, she lifts a hand to rub her nose a little, then sneezes, twice in fairly quick succession.
Tornaq appears in the doorway, rumbling inquisitively as he gazes after her. Leaning forward so his head is in the ATV, he whuffs at the air and takes a look around the space, then climbs up and in himself, doing so with a certain amount of wariness. Once within, he doesn't take very long to settle himself, laying down.
Monique removes her belt and her weapons, the variety of pouches she carries, and her boots. Sock-footed, with socks that have seen better days for the holes in them, she climbs up onto Tornaq, settling atop the great white bear. It makes the most of the space, that way.

Walking around to the far side of the vehicle, Mikjel partially closes the door, leaving a gap next to Tornaq. Returning to the side next to the fire, he climbs in, rolling the window down a few inches and closing the door. Careful to neither step on or trip over either bear or woman, he edges to the back of the cab. Sitting on the blankets, in the dark, he undoes the straps on his armour, placing it in a corner, tucked between cabinet and wall. That done, he climbs under the woolen blanket, curling up just about as far as he can get from the bear. "Hope you all sleep tight," as he smiles at them, expression on his face and instinctive tension a severe contrast.

At the sound of the door mostly closing, Monique casts a glance in that direction, a smile touching her lips. Tornaq looks there as well, whuffling a breath, but remains settled. A yawn escapes the little shaman, and she nestles amongst the blanket of Tornaq's fur beneath her. Settling in, it would seem. The bear rumbles softly, looking to Mikjel, then turns his gaze to Monique for a long moment before settling his head.
"Mmm... Tornaq say, you friend. He not hurt. Can rest, relax... he watch, protect, guard. He wake if need. Sleep well, Mikjel," Monique says softly, her tone gentle and warm, a smile turning at the corners of her lips. Shifting a little bit, she settles herself and curls up on her side, remaining up on Tornaq, sharing his warmth. It seems a familiar thing for them.

Despite his wariness, it's late and Mikjel is tired. He rolls to face the back wall of the cab. Maybe if he doesn't see Tornaq, he can pretend that the bear isn't actually a foot or two behind him. He tucks the blanket tighter around himself, a yawn escaping as he buries his head in his arm. "Night," is what he manages before he yawns again, eyes closing. Before long, there is soft snoring from his side of the cab. Apparently fatigue can sometimes win over worry.

The small Inuit shaman watches Mikjel as he settles amongst his blankets and curls up, and a little smile touches at the corners of her lips. Perhaps he'll get used to Tornaq, she muses. The great white bear gives a yawn, then settles his head down again, making himself comfortable. Sliding down from the bear's back, doing so only once Mikjel is lost to his snoring, Monique's socked feet make little noise upon the ATV's floor. She takes a step or two closer to him, then stops, merely standing and watching him, her dark eyes reflecting a thoughtful cast to them.
Watching him for a longer moment, she steps quietly over to Tornaq again, settling amongst his front paws to rest against his chest. She gathers up one of her leather pouches, drawing it open to withdraw a stick that's been fashioned into a ring. A strip of leather is taken from out of the pouch as well, and then coils of sinew. It's the coils of sinew that she starts working with, tying one end to the stick and starting to create a webbish sort of pattern within the circle, threading little polished pieces of colourful stone here and there amongst the design.

Mikjel does little but sleep as the web or net takes form in Monique's hands. At first, he snores calmly, coccooned in the blanket, but after a little while, his snores slow and stop. He slowly uncurls, the blanket sliding down his body as he does. His body trembles slightly as he tenses, a catch in his throat every few breaths. After that, there are a long few minutes where his only motion is tense quivering. His face hidden, it's hard to tell if it's fear, cold or anger. He begins to mumble softly in his sleep, something incoherent. There is a long pause and some more mumbling. Another, longer pause, a low, firm, "No, Stella. No." There is another pause, this one shorter, then he suddenly punches the wall of the cab, a dull *thud* echoing through the cramped space. He rolls over, then, curling back up at Monique's feet, his face a picture of serene calm.

Working calmly, absorbed in her task, Monique makes a fair amount of progress with the web within the ring. It's when his snores stop that her attention is drawn to him, and she tilts her head slightly to one side, her brow furrowing slightly as she watches him. Reaching out, she sets her work aside, easing out of the embrace of the great white bear, who lays awake and watchful. His shivering worries her, and with that emotion dominating, she creeps closer to him.
She's nearly to him when he punches the wall of the cab, the action startling her into stumbling backwards a little. Tornaq reaches out a front paw to place it on her back, catching her, keeping her from falling, giving a soft rumble of sound. Again, Monique creeps closer to him, and this time, once she's near to him, she reaches out to his blanket to claim it, drawing it back up and around him, to tuck him back into it so he'll keep warm. She kneels near to him then, watching over him, her brow furrowing a little. Easing back a little, she reclaims her work, settling in to continue with creating the web in the ring.

Mikjel goes back to sleep, this time calm and relaxed. His snoring resumes, and after a few moments, he pulls the blanket tighter around himself. Whatever the dream was, it's over, as is the brief moment of violence. Both have evaporated, leaving no trace except a slight scrape on the first two knuckles of his right hand, where flesh met reinforced metal. He remains like this until dawn, curled behind the driver's seat, blanket wrapped around him and head on the ground.

As she continues with her task, she looks more than once over towards him, to reassure herself that all is well with him. Familiar as she is with the process of making the dreamcatcher she's working on, it doesn't take her a great amount of time to finish it, the studded web in place and the stick wrapped with a strip of leather. She's even attached a few leather tassles with feathers and beads, and a leather strip at the top to use to hang it with. She sets this aside, in a safe place, then tucks the extra things back into the pouch and settles her things back away.
She creeps over to him once more, to check his hand, his knuckles. Her brow furrows slightly, and she looks to the serenity of his expression before actually touching her fingers to his, a whisper of magic slipping from her to bath over his fingers, healing the scrapes and leaving nary a trace of it save for what blood might have come to his skin. A faint smile touches at the corners of her lips, and she watches him again, for a long moment.
A choice, then, is made, and rather than return to Tornaq's furry warmth, she settles with Mikjel there on the blankets, comfortable and relaxed, drawing only a little of the blanket to cover herself with.

With Mikjel remaining settled amongst the blankets, the small Inuit woman relaxes a little bit more as well. Nestling just a fraction closer to him, she pillows her head on her uninjured arm and closes her eyes to sleep. Tornaq remains awake and watchful, having little need for sleep and being both well rested and well fed. He watches the two people and gives that bear grin of his, settling in to guard and protect as is his duty. Her breathing slows as sleep washes gently over her, claiming her into darkness.

The sun is just peeking through the trees when Mikjel awakes. Specifically, when Mikjel awakes to realise that, in the night, he has ended up within half a metre of Tornaq. Quietly, he shifts his legs away from the bear, wondering, briefly, where Monique is, before his foot touches hers. Subtlety and stealth having failed him, he instead settles on getting up. Knowing that if he hasn't woken her by now, this won't, he tucks the blanket around her, then retrieves a foil packet, the bowls and the spoons from the cabinet. Those in hand, he opens the drivers' side door and hops out of the ATV, closing it softly behind him and beginning to gather kindling.

Sunlight and dawn's passing are usually what wakes the small Inuit woman. Yet today, she's slept through the latter, no doubt because of being inside the vehicle. Tornaq glances towards Mikjel when the man awakens, offering a soft rumble of greeting and a slight bob of his head in a sort of nod. When his foot nudges against her own, Monique gives a sleepy little murmur of sound, shifting a little beneath the blankets. She yawns a little, then curls up a bit, savouring the warmth remaining in the blankets. "Mmm... morning," she says softly, a little smile tugging at the corners of her lips as she looks up at him. Her dark eyes appear a little sleepy, yet, and she uncurls herself to stretch a little, yawning again. Listening, she actually allows herself to be lazy for a moment, remaining amongst the blankets.

As he exited the cab, Mikjel suggested, with a grin and with his actions, that she could sleep in. He, on the other hand, is walking around the edge of the clearing in shirt, long underwear and bare feet, gathering dry twigs as he goes. After a few minutes, he has a handful that aren't overly damp, and returns to the centre of the clearing. There, he busies himself with moving the skin bag off of the drying rack and shifting the wooden frame away from the long-dead embers. That done, he begins stacking the twigs in a rough cone, beginning to build a small fire.

It's an uncommon thing, for her to get to sleep in. But she stays all snuggled in the blankets, warm and toasty, taking a moment to stretch before nestling in again. Her injured shoulder feels a little achy, but that's normal enough for the injury.
Tornaq reaches out to nose at her cheek, and then the great white bear climbs down and out of the vehicle himself. Pausing outside, he shakes himself off, then steps into the clearing some distance from Mikjel. It's a good enough spot, and he lowers himself to the ground before lowering to the ground and rolling. Once finished, he stretches out and just lays that way, which probably looks at least a ltitle silly. She does, at least, manage to doze off a little bit, even if it's not full sleep.

The beginnings of a fire built, Mikjel reaches in his pocket for his lighter. Immediately after doing that, he glances around to make sure that no one's watching him. Thankfully, with Monique in the ATV still and Tornaq on the other side of the vehicle, he's relatively confident that no one saw him fumble with his pocket before looking down and realising that the knit long underwear that he's wearing, unsurprisingly, have neither pockets or lighter. Rolling his eyes at himself, he pads over to the door, easing it open just wide enough to reach into his backpack and find the lighter. He walks back to the fire pit and kneels next to it, lighting the tinder at the centre of his sticks and coaxing it, with gentle puffs of breath, to catch some of the smaller twigs.

The teasing scent of the smoke manages to reach its fingers into the ATV, even though it takes it a little while after the fire is lit. Wiggling her nose a little at the smell, Monique stirs a little there amongst the blankets. Yawning, she stretches again, this time a little more languidly. Pushing herself to a sitting position, she lifts a hand to brush aside a stray lock of her hair, letting the blanket fall. Getting to her feet, she takes a moment to gather up her dreamcatcher, and with that in the hand of her injured arm, she steps towards the doorway of the ATV. Considering the distance to the ground, and pausing, she takes the easy way out -- she sits on her bum in the doorway, then lowers herself to the feet. With little care for the holy socks she wears, she steps around the vehicle to where Mikjel is, coming up next to him and watching him a moment before lifting a hand to lightly touch his shoulder.

Mikjel looks up, at her, smiling. The far door, the one that Tornaq opened, creaks a little in a gust of wind, and Mikjel bends to shield the tiny fire. "Morning. Hope you all slept OK." He adds a few more sticks to the slowly-growing fire before saying, "Ain't got all that much that's breakfast-like, but I reckon that," he holds up the rectangular foil pouch, "instant gruel might be easier on the stomach than a heaping bowl of stew first-off." He makes a little expression of regret, adding, "Ain't got any tea or coffee, though. Wouldn't mind a mug of coffee, but that's kinda like pouring credits into a pot and drinking it."

Mikjel continues up the path, saying, "Figure I'm gonna get my traps after breakfast and pack up. If you all want, I can haul the deer back with me. It'll fit in the back of the truck, no problems." He glances back at her, checking her expression as he continues, "That said, it ain't hunting me. Figure it ain't gonna chase you all back to town, so should be fine, and if you reckon there's no need to go looking for it, I'll respect that." He turns again and begins walking back down the path toward the clearing.

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side as he mentions his traps, and then she gives a small nod, following him along the path. "Get traps good. Can come, help, if want?" she offers, a smile touching her lips as she looks up at him. She takes a moment to glance off into the trees, then lifts one of her shoulders in a faint shrug. "Not think hound need be hunted. If not alone, not want get in fight of many," she says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. Ending up facing many instead of one wouldn't be a good thing, to her way of thinking.

Mikjel nods, glancing back ofer his shoulder at her. "Please. Can do with the company. Shouldn't take long, seeing I ain't planning to reset them someplace else." He continues walking up the path as he says that, quickly turning his head back to be able to avoid any low-hanging branches. "Reckon we all can have breakfast, lock the deer and anything we ain't carrying into the truck, then set out and grab them, empty or not. Besides, case something does happen, I'd rather I weren't half a mile away from you all." The clearing approaches fairly quickly. After all, it isn't a long path.

The small shaman studies him for a moment, then quirks a bright smile before giving a nod. "Will come with, check traps. If catch, can help skin," she says lightly, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. Odd, perhaps, that she seems to enjoy that particularly menial task. Being the height she is, she's not particularly worried about low branches, though she does sidestep a bit of underbrush growing over the path part way. "Can protect better when closer," Monique muses, taking a moment to study him again. She's not sure how she's earned his protection, but she's not going to argue to it, and she's not going to ask about it just yet either. "How many traps out?" she asks, curiosity to her words.

Arriving at the clearing, Mikjel says, "Just four. Got here late, didn't want to be fumbling around in strange woods after dark." He glances around the clearing, noting nothing out of place. The fire is almost out, but he considers that far better than if it were larger than a few minutes ago. "Like as not, won't get more than one. One, I'd call luck. Were planning on being out here a week. Guess I ain't that lucky, so I shouldn't even be hoping for one."

Monique raises an eyebrow slightly as she looks to him, and then she gives a small nod. "Normally get here earlier?" she asks, curiosity again in her voice. Once in the clearing, she pauses briefly before stepping over to where Tornaq paces near the trees.
He meets her part way, lowering his nose to touch her shoulder, sniffing at her as though to see where she's been simply by smell. Giving a soft rumble, he nudges her, then steps over to Mikjel, lowering his nose and giving another rumble, this one sounding... grateful? Monique has followed him, and she lifts a hand to rub his front leg nearest to her.
"Tornaq say, thank you," she says softly, a smile touching her lips. "Can stay full week, no harm. If want, can stay, can help. Give more time cure deer, if stay. I not mind if you not mind," she offers, tilting her head slightly to one side. She leaves the choice to him, but makes the offer all the same, having nothing that requires her to return to the city.

First removing a glove, in order to softly pet Tornaq's muzzle, Mikjel shrugs and settles in by the firepit, doffing his helmet as well, then beginning to feed the fire and build it back up. "Nope. Ain't too partial to town, but right now, it's a damn sight better than being out here." He starts filling the kettle from his canteen, then hangs it over the fire. "That said, I've got a fire pit back in town, if it hasn't been stole by now. If you want, can rig up something to cure the deer, knowing that there ain't nothing hunting us." He sits back, legs crossed beneath him, watching the slowly-growing fire.

There's a certain logic to his choice that even Monique would have to agree to. Her brow furrowing a little as she thinks on it further, she claims a stick and nudges a bit at the fire, watching it grow. "I not think it be stole. Most not have use for fire pit," she says thoughtfully, settling to her knees. The stick is fed to the fire, and she turns her gaze to him again. "Have mugs? Can make ready, for when water boil," she offers, a smile touching her lips. Rising to her feet, she detaches that one leather pouch from her belt and approaches him, offering it to him. "Is for you," she says simply, her chin ducking a little. She doesn't give gifts often, but something drew her to make this particular gift for him.

Mikjel nods at Monique's question, standing, but stopping to take the pouch from her. He opens it, looks inside and blinks, slowly. There is a long pause, before he says, simply, "Thank you." He decides not to question the choice and to treat her intent as sincere. "If it's all right with you all, I'll hang it in the back of the truck."
Another pause, as he turns the dreamcatcher in his hands, then he steps forward and gives her a soft hug. He walks back to the ATV, unlocking it and climbing inside. There, the dreamcatcher is carefully and delicately affixed to an inside wall, above where his head lies when he sleeps. After he's satisfied that it's secure, he recovers a pair of mugs from the cabinet and steps out again, offering them to Monique.

A little nervous as he accepts the pouch to look within it, Monique watches him do so. "Are welcome," she says softly, a bit of a blush rising into her cheeks. "Is good place, in back of truck, if is where sleep often," she adds, a smile tugging at her lips. The hug he offers is something that surprises her, and she hugs him right back, leaning into him for the moment that it lasts.
She watches him head to the ATV to put the dreamcatcher up, and Tornaq steps up behind her to give a soft rumble as he nudges her back with his nose. With a smile, she turns to face him, lifting a hand to rub his muzzle. When she turns back, it's to find Mikjel there, with the mugs, and she smiles warmly at him before giving a small nod, reaching out to accept the mugs.
"Thank you," she says softly, then carries the mugs over near to the fire, where she kneels with them. The pouch she had harvested herbs and such into is then detached, and she opens it before spilling the contents into her lap. She picks and chooses, then, as to what goes into both of the mugs.

Watching Monique prepare the tea, Mikjel lists off the herbs going in. "Spruce needles. That one's easy." He sits next to her, placing the two tin bowls in front of himself. "Clover root. Only got that one because you dug up a clover." He feeds another few twigs into the fire, watching the first wisps of steam escape the kettle. "Indigo, but I ain't sure whether it's for colour or flavour." Retrieving his knife, he cuts open the foil package, pouring oats and grey-brown powder into both bowls. "That's roadside hemp. One of them plants that you can eat, but it ain't great. Never tried it in tea, though." Peering at the next ingredient, he pauses and when he speaks, there is laughter in his voice. "If that one's rose hips, I'm calling it a cheat."

As he lists off the different things that she puts into the mugs, not only does she learn the english words for the plants, but she also gains further respect for Mikjel that he knows them. Pausing part way through her sorting out of the gathering she had done, she looks to him, then laughs lightly, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Why is cheat for use rose hips?" she asks, quirking a grin. She does, indeed, produce them, adding them to the mugs. Then some leaves of bee balm, for the flavour they give. "Would add honey, but not have... not find," she comments, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it.

Mikjel gives Monique a mock-accusing look. "Well, first, them rose hips, they ain't from around here, not wild, leastwise. Second, if they were wild, they'd be rotted by now. Third, I ain't seen no roses anywhere on that path." He grins, laughing softly, and busies himself with pouring the now-boiling water into the bowls. He sets the kettle back on its hook over the fire, then turns to rummage through his bag. Finally, he pulls out a small, dented tin. "Ain't got honey, but I've got a bit of sugar. Ain't gathered it or made it, though." He grins and winks at her before beginning to stir the oats and seasoning together in the bowls.

The small Inuit woman laughs lightly at his explanation, her dark eyes showing a sparkle of amusement in them. "Did harvest, but... not from out here. Not find wild roses often, here. In city, found old rose grow behind a place. Pick from there, let dry so not spoil," she explains, quirking a grin. As he produces the sugar, she lifts a hand and reaches out to rap him lightly on the upper arm portion of his armor. "Am not only cheat, then," she comments, teasing him and giving a wink in return. Tornaq wanders over closer before laying on the grass, stretching out his front paws and making himself comfortable, no doubt drawn by the mingled scents of food and tea.

Mikjel smiles at her as he places bowl and spoon beside her knee. "In that case, I gathered it. Ain't liable to find sugar often here. In town, I found an old bag of sugar behind a box on a store shelf. Bought it from there, put it in a tin so's it wouldn't get wet." He is laughing softly through his entire explanation of urban gathering, patting her on the shoulder and concluding, "So, I'm only as much a cheat as you." He nods, his expression grave and serious before he starts laughing again, finally picking up his own bowl and beginning to nibble the oatmeal, pre-flavoured with sugar and artificial cinnamon flavour. "See, this, on the other hand, this is a massive cheat. Tasty, though."

Monique giggles as he explains just how it is that he came across the sugar and ended up with it, her dark eyes sparkling with amusement. "Think you more cheat," she teases, winking at him. "You buy," she adds, grinning. After all, she didn't have to pay anything for her rose hips other than a little blood to the thorns in the process of gathering them. She gathers up her bowl from where he'd set it, and the spoon, lifting the former to be able to sniff a little at it. Unfamiliarity with the stuff leads to curiosity. With the spoon, she pokes a little at the oatmeal, experimentally, then gathers up a little bit of it to try it. Her brow furrows a little bit, though it's more in the manner of one who is studying something than being from dislike, and then she takes up another spoonful to eat, apparently approving of it as an edible item. "Is good, yes," she agrees, smiling at him again.

Mikjel takes a few more bites of the oatmeal before looking over at her, face filled with innocence, and asking, "So, if I'd found it in the store and carried it out, I'd have been a proper forager, then?" He winks, smiling widely, innocence lost to mirth, before he returns to his bowl, eating in silence for a minute or two, until every oat has been scraped from it. The bowl is set aside and he sits quietly, a smile on his lips and in his eyes as he waits for her to finish eating. Eventually, he reaches for the kettle and the mugs, asking, "May I?"

"Mmm... am not sure taking from store is forage," she teases, winking at him, her dark eyes showing a sparkle in them. Shifting her bowl in her hand, she eats more of the oatmeal, apparently enjoying it, quiet until about half of the bowl is gone. Drawing her legs a little closer to her, she glances to the fire, then to him when he reaches for the kettle. She smiles warmly, then gives a nod. "Yes, can pour. Will need sit little bit, but is good," Monique says. Her attention shifts back to the oatmeal, and she starts to eat the remainder of what the bowl holds.

Mikjel takes the kettle, pouring the boiling water slowly into one mug. "So, what're the rules for foraging, then? Just that it's gotta be outside, or are there stricter laws about it than that?" He fills the other, then fills his bowl with water as well, to make it easier to scrub later. The spoon is in the bowl as well. The kettle is set next to the fire. "And when does gathering start to become hunting? Say I were gathering a duck. What's the rules for that?"

Monique tilts her head slightly to one side, and then she laughs lightly. "Yes. Need be outside, for forage," she says, her dark eyes showing a sparkle of amusement to them. She finishes up her bowl of oatmeal, then sets aside both the bowl and spoon. She reaches out to take the kettle and pour some of the water into her bowl so that what's left won't be hard to clean. "Is hunting if kill, if take life," she says softly, her tone thoughtful in nature, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Mikjel ponders this, picking up his cup and holding it, warming his hands. "So, say the duck were hit by someone else's truck, and I gathered it off the side of the road. That gathering, then? Or what if it were killed by coyotes, but I chased then off?" He smiles at her as he dips his head and takes a smiff of the teacup. "I probably count as hunter, gatherer and shopper at once, though."

The small Inuit woman falls thoughtful at that particular scenario, taking a moment to gather up her mug and hold it cupped in her hands as well. Lifting her mug, she breathes in the scent of it, then turns her gaze to him, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "If is killed by another, then are not hunting. Are gathering. Taking what remains. Even if chase off killers, is still taking what left," she says thoughtfully, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Shifting her position a little, she takes a small sip of the tea, her eyes half closing as she does so, and then she looks up at him. "Hunting is taking life," she adds, raising an eyebrow slightly and giving a small nod, as though that sums up hunting quite nicely.

Mikjel takes a slow sip of his cup, savouring the bitter tea. "Reckon that's fair. Si I can't call going shopping 'hunting', even if I ain't paying." He grins at her, the smile creasing his eyes. "That all said, the duck I'm after is back in town and the rabbits I'm after might be out there in snares by now. Least, that's what I'm hoping." He raises the mug to her before taking another sip. "What say we get the tea drunk, the fire out and the deer locked up nice and safe in the truck. After that, we can check the trapline and still make it in to town before the sun goes down."

Monique quirks a smile, and then she gives a small nod. "Yes. Shopping not hunting. Even if not pay," she teases, winking at him, mischief in her voice. "Where in town is duck?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly. A glance is cast towards the great white bear when he rumbles, though as it seems to have been a sound without a cause, her attention easily shifts back to Mikjel. "Maybe snare have rabbit, maybe not. Hope yes. Is good plan," she affirms, a smile quirking at the corners of her lips. She lifts her mug of tea, then takes a sip of it, not seeming bothered at all by the flavour of it.

With his free hand, Mikjel draws a crude map of Kingsdale in the bare earth. "Got the dregs doen here," he points, "go up this way a bit and over, and there's craters from where bombs fell. Them craters get rain in them. Because of that, they get ducks, too. Been trying to see if I can catch one of them. Reckon that if I can get it alive, someone might want it for a pet. If not, well, there's good eating on a duck, even this late in the year." He shrugs helplessly, grinning as he takes another sip of the tea. "That all said, I ain't had good luck with her. She's slipped away from me four times now, and I think she's getting suspicious."

The Inuit woman tilts her head slightly to one side, looking to the map that he draws in the earth. Listening as he explains where, she quirks a smile before giving a small nod. "Know place mean, with water. Ducks like. Am not sure would want as pet. Meat good, on duck. Good fat, need herbs for cook," she says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. "How try catch duck? Maybe is different way to try?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly, curiosity sounding in the question. She shifts her weight a little, then keeps her mug in her left hand before lifting her right to lightly touch the bandage on her upper right arm. It doesn't bother her, but it feels tender. Her touch there lingers a moment before she lowers her hand to her lap, and she lifts her mug to take a sip of the tea.

Shrugging, Mikjel says, "Yup, there's another way. Get a shotgun and hunt the duck proper. But that ain't right to do in a city, and seeing as the duck and me, we're testing each other, I ain't gonna go that route." He finishes the last of the bitter tea and stands, walking to the drying rack. "Been feeding it bread, trying to lure it close, then making a grab once it gets within a metre or two." Pieces of meat are stacked toward the centre of the hide as he talks, to make it easier to move later. "How's your arm doing, anyway? Healing OK?"

Monique wrinkles her nose at the mention of the shotgun, and then she shakes her head. "Not like shotgun. Duck like corn better thank bread," she muses, tilting her head slightly to one side. She ducks her chin slightly when he asks about her arm, but then she gives a little nod. "Is okay. Healing, yes, little... think bleed some. Aches, little," she replies, her brow furrowing a little. She doesn't sound overly concerned about it, but some of it does bleed into her tone. She swirls her tea a little in her cup, then lifts it to finish it before cleaning out the leaves with a finger. Setting the mug with his, she rises to her feet and then starts to help with the meat.

As most of it had been stacked last night, rearranging the cuts of meat goes quickly. "Good to hear. Probably want to get it checked when we get into town anyway. Go up to Knight's or something." He begins to roll the meat in the hide, making it into a portable bundle. "Would you all give me a hand, please? We put this in the truck, ain't nothing without a key or some picklocks that's gonna get at it." He lifts one end of the bundle, but waits for assistance before moving.

Looking across the meat to him, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips before she gives a small nod. "Yes. Will have looked at," she says, then lowers her gaze to the meat again. Finding it all tucked away into a bundle by his skilled hands, she ducks her chin a little and blushes a bit. "Will help. Like helping," she says softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She gathers up her end of the bundle, doing so easily enough, and gets to her feet, then gives a small nod to him. "Not think many have... picklocks, as you say?" she adds, her brow furrowing a little bit. Another unfamiliar word, but at least it's one that she can figure out the use for that one.

Mikjel helps her get the bundle into the back of the ATV, moving blankets out of the way to make room for the hide and meat. "Reckon that only someone expecting to find a truck to steak would be carrying kit to break in anyhow." Bowls, kettle and hanger follow and, soon enough, the clearing is cleared, save for fire and equipment. As he moves toward the fire, intending to douse it, he asks, "Aside for the deer, you all got anything needs doing before we head out into the bush again?"

Carrying her share of the bundle doesn't seem to be as much of a burden to her as what it likely should be for someone of her height. But then, the deer itself hadn't seemed that much of a burden when she was dragging it back to the clearing, either. She helps to get it into the back of the truck, then looks to him before giving a warm smile, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. "Just deer. Not bring much when come here. Other things still in truck. Expect only need knife for help check traps," Monique says, quirking a smile again.

Mikjel nods easily, donning his gloves before breaking and dousing the fire. Everything of his save knives, rifle and armour are stowed in the ATV, which gets locked up. Giving her a smile before donning the helmet, he says, "Reckon we oughta get going, then. Out in the bush, come right back, we can make town by nighttime." The helmet on, his smile is replaced by a fixed, grinning rictus, framed with cloth and twigs.

Monique watches him as he douses the fire, approaching as he does so. Yet her attention is more on him than on the fire, truth told. "Lead way... am ready," she offers, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. She checks her knife, then turns her gaze to Tornaq, giving a small nod to the bear. Tornaq rises to his feet, then gives himself a shake before stepping towards her, lowering his nose to touch her shoulder before giving a rumble and looking to Mikjel. "Want rabbits skinned here, or take back whole?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Mikjel begins to walk down the path into the wood, leading the way back to where he set his snares. "Reckon I'll take them back to town before skinning them." He shrugs and glances back over his shoulder at her. "I'd have cleaned them here, but after running into that hound, I ain't powerful inclined to stay out here any longer than I need." He continues to walk, leading the way through the woods in near-silence, though his foot occasionally breaks a twig and branches sometimes bump his helmet. After a little while walking, the three arrive at the first, empty, snare.

The petite woman takes a moment to look to Tornaq, lifting a hand to rub the fur of his front leg nearest to her, and then she starts to follow after Mikjel. "Is good idea. Where one hound, may be more? Like wolf pack?" she asks, raising an eyebrow slightly as she studies him. She falls quiet then, following him through the woods and keeping watch, the great white bear keeping his attention on the surroundings as well. He doesn't want harm to find her again, after all. "How many snares on line?" she asks, once they're at the first empty one, looking up at him.

Mikjel reaches up and unties the snare from the overhanging branch. "Four," he says in response to her question. The snare is attached to his belt and he begins walking again. "Don't reckon as there's more. Like I said last night, if there's more here, I'd have thought they'd try for you all. Don't make sense that they ain't acting like a wolf pack, so I ain't thinking there's more than the one." Walking further along the rabbit trail, in front of you, he continues, "Two or more, one of them shoulda got your attention while the others hit you from behind." Pointing up the trail, he says, "Think that one's got a-" and freezes a moment. "Them leaves by the snare. They were placed there since I was here. I swear. Think the bastard's trying to trap us."

Monique gives a small nod at the number, then takes a moment to look over the area where the snare was picked up from. She doesn't say anything, choosing to stay quiet for the time being, following along through the woods until reaching the second one. There, she stops as well, tilting her head slightly to one side at his words. "Placed? But... why want trap us?" she asks softly, keeping her voice a little lower than perhaps she normally would. Tornaq picks up on it, lowering his nose to touch her shoulder, whuffing a breath before lifting his head and looking over the area more closely. Scenting the air, he turns his round ears to try to catch what sounds might be in the area as well, concerned.
There are no sounds or smells that might betray another presence. The forest is very very still, likely because of the giant predator wandering far outside its home rangs.
After a long moment gazing out into the woods, Mikjel breaks a branch off of a dead tree, approaching the leaves with caution. A few pokes reveals a lattice, woven of young branches, that wouldn't support a human's weight. "I reckon it wants to trap us because you all seem mighty tasty to it. You fell into this pit, it's got what it wants. Tornaq falls in, it can choose between the two of you. I fall in, it gets rid of one of the threats and can try and pick you all off." He begins edging around the pit toward his snare which does, indeed, contain a rabbit. "It likely knows we're leaving, though, so he ain't got no more chances to hunt. And I reckon we've foiled its plan, as this pit musta taken all night-"

The stillness of the forest itself is a thing to cause suspicion, as there are usually little sounds of birds and insects moving about the trees. She frowns a little at the lattice he reveals by moving aside the leaves, her brow furrowing a touch. She doesn't like the look of the pit, not at all. "But... if hound hunt still, hound likely not eat from scream last night?" she suggests, still keeping her voice quiet. The sound of the metal catch is enough to gain Tornaq's attention, and without more warning other than a rumble, he jumps forward and reaches out to grab Mikjel's arm in his jaws. Not to bite, just to grab hold of and pull him back and out of the way of the falling tree which he can hear falling down towards them. At the same time taking care not to end up in the pit. Monique scoots back on her own, having caught enough meaning in Tornaq's rumble to do so.

As the bear pulls Mikjel to safety, the tree crashes down, right on the pit. The man turns, flicking the safety on his rifle off and saying, "Shit. It's got us pinned up against this fence. Not good." His statement said, he steps off of the rabbit run and into the bush, vanishing completely into the undergrowth and moving nearly silently

Two arrows fly out of the woods as a figure in black armour with a spiked skull mask reveals its position a ways back on the rabbit run. The first whistles wide, flying through the fence. The other is much more accurate, catching Monique in the leg. However, it ricochets off, landing in the pit behind her.

Tornaq releases Mikjel's arm once the man has been pulled to safety, then gives him a slight nudge with his nose. His attention turns towards the forest, ears turned to catch what sounds come to him through the air. As the figure appears, the great white bear gives a bellowing roar before starting off in the direction that it is.
Monique, meanwhile, ignores the arrows, even though one of them skitters off her leg. It's enough to make her thankful that she put that particular talisman on, wrapped around her wrist on the leather thong as it is. It's enough to count as wearing, though, and enough to keep her from having blood drawn again. Reaching to a pouch at her side, she withdraws a short rod of metal, closing her fingers around it and doing nothing other than holding it as she sets off in the direction of the hunter. The hunter who has now become the hunted, and she moves fairly swiftly to reach that black armored figure.
It likely surprises her at least somewhat that she reaches it, but once to it, she takes a swipe of a punch aimed at the head of the figure. Best to strike at, and hit, a possibly more vulnerable part. Which she thankfully hits, though it probably doesn't damage as much as she might have hoped.

A shouted warning is all that Monique receives before beams of laser light arc toward the figure. Light being faster than woman, three quick bursts hit the armoured figure's chest. Unlike the other two, Mikjel makes no motion toward the fray. Instead, he finds a tree to use as a support. Unfortunately, he bumps his rifle against the branch as he gets in position, knocking his sights out of alignment, sending his second shot wild.

Seeing the stunning speed with which Monique advances, and the fact that its bow failed to even scratch her, the psi-stalker takes a step back, the bow falling to the ground as it retrieves a spear. The weapon is a wide pointed blade attached to a metal shaft. The spear whirls around it, snaking out to test Monique's defences. Two attacks get past her attempts to parry, testing the strength of her magical shield.

From the way the spears strike her, it could be initially thought that there should be damage. And under normal circumstances, there should be. Yet the shielding she has is within the very skin of her being, and so though the spears hit her, there is no blood drawn even though slashes do appear in her clothes where she was struck. Interestingly enough, being attacked doesn't deter her. Or at least, it doesn't stop her from attempting to attack in return. Though it does cause certain... issues... with her aim and apparent ability to strike the hound. The punch intended for the hound's face unfortunately misses. Her fingers clench a little at that and she gives a second punch swift on the heels of the first, this one landing solidly -- or sounding that way -- though it doesn't inflict much in the way of damage. Tornaq's lumbering arrival onto the scene has good timing, and the bear rushes in to bellow a roar before lifting his front paws to swipe in alternate fashion at the creature, claws whisking past the helmet by a hair's breadth on the first swipe while leaving a greater margin on the second. While the bear attacks and hopefully gains the attention of the hound, the small Inuit woman expels a murmured snippet of her native language. In her left hand, where the metal rod is held, it gradually transforms into a blade of frosty proportions which glows with a misty white energy. It is with this weapon that Monique attacks with then, the edge of the blade tracing a fine line of frost on the creature's armor whilst inflicting no damage whatsoever.

Another volley of laser fire arcs over Tornaq's shoulder. The first shot cracks the chestplate of the figure's armour, but the second shears a hole in it, leaving a patch of bare skin, slightly burnt as the clothes underneath melted away.

The figure, seeing its armour crack and break, drops to its knees and says, in a tinny, hollow voice, "Please, please don't kill me!" Its spear falls to the ground beside it and it holds up its empty hands.

As the laser fire follows its path, Tornaq sidesteps to the opposite side, away from the projectiles. They're strange enough to make the bear move that little bit. Growling low in his throat and with his lips peeled back to bare his fangs, Tornaq lowers his head and glares menacingly at the hound. Lifting one of his front paws and holding it aloft, claws gleaming, he pauses there.
Waiting. Monique, meanwhile, brings the edge of her frostblade to rest at the side of the hound's neck, even though it has offered up a surrender. She doesn't trust it. And so she waits for Mikjel to approach from his chosen vantage point, and tilts her head slightly to one side at the pleading. "Why let live? You try kill us, make trap for catch," Monique says, her dark eyes showing a flicker of anger to them.

The psi-stalker says, softly, words echoing through the helmet, "Hunger. I could smell all of you. You smelled so good." It pauses, looking up at Monique with its blank skull mask. "I wasn't trying to kill you, just to capture one of you long enough to eat. Please, please just let me have a taste, let me have a little bit of one of your magic, and you have my word that I won't bother you any more."

Mikjel steps out into the open, energy rifle levelled at the psi-stalker. In an equally hollow voice, he says, "Way I see it, armor you're wearing, you're either deserter or kinslayer. Either way, your word's worth less than my piss. So you're gonna have to do better than your word to convince me that you ain't worth killing. I reckon that, if you caught one of them, you'd have kept them prisoner and fed off them over and over until they died."

Tilting her head slightly to one side as she listens to the stalker's words, her brow furrows a little. Even with it giving its words, she still doesn't believe it. A frown tugs at the corners of her lips. She is, at least, saved from having to give a response so soon after it spoke, thanks to Mikjel coming closer and speaking.
"Your fate, his to choose. He know your kind. If want mercy, need get from him. I not give, and not mine to give," Monique says softly, speaking after taking the time to think it through. She only knows of the creature what Mikjel has told her, which isn't really a lot. And she happens to agree with Mikjel's viewpoint on it as well. So for the time being, she keeps her blade at the creature's neck, and Tornaq remains at the edge of attacking -- ready and willing and more than able.

The stalker lets out a laugh, high and sharp. "If you don't see what's going on, you're a fool! Either he killed a sergeant for that armor or he's commanded rangers before. I'd know that helmet anywhere. It was people like him that commanded me, that made me a slave, who hunted me after I found free-"

A flash of light. The psi-stalker crumples to the ground, a charred hole in its chest. Mikjel lowers his rifle, puts the safety back on and says, "It were asking too much. They can't feed just a little. When they find magic, they have to eat all of it. Would have left you without defenses, without protection out here."

The small Inuit woman raises an eyebrow slightly as her dark-eyed gaze settles upon the hound. Listening attentively to what's said, she frowns a little, considering the words carefully, and perhaps weighing out what is meant by them. She startles, blinking a little when the hound is killed, and then she turns her gaze back to Mikjel. "Hound, they... they always feed all magic? Eat all?" she asks softly. These questions aren't the first ones that came to her mind, but... they're the ones that she asks first, all the same. She steps back, towards Tornaq, lifting a hand to bring her fingers to rest on his snowy fur. The bear's snarl has faded, and he lowers his head to touch his nose to her shoulder, as though reassuring himself that she's all right. A small smile touches at the corners of her lips, and she extinguishes the frostblade she holds, returning the metal rod back to the pouch where it had first come. With the hound dead, there is no need for the weapon to be out, still.

Mikjel approaches the body, quickly searching it. His actions are practiced, as if he's done this before. "Yup. It don't get the choice of just eating a little bit. Not its fault that it can't stop eating when it's full, but likewise, that means that it's hungry all the time." He stands, gesturing at the spear and saying, "I reckon it cached its rifle somewhere hereabouts. You want a spear?" His rather pedestrian question asked, he climbs over the log to the snare, extricating the rabbit and noting aloud, "Were speared, not snared. Bastard put it in my trap as bait." With that, he collects his snare and begins to clamber over the fence.

Monique watches Mikjel as he searches the body, her brow furrowing a little more as she does so. She gives a small nod to his words about the hound, bothered by the concept of such a thing being possible. "Can have Tornaq try find, by scent. May work, not sure," she offers, a small smile touching her lips. "Can use spear, yes," she affirms, giving a nod before glancing to the weapon in question. She steps towards the weapon, studying it for a lingering moment, and then she turns her attention towards the snare and the rabbit offered. "Was good bait. Worked," she muses, frowning a little again. She doesn't reach out to take up the weapon, though she does lower to one knee next to it, considering yet not speaking further, for the moment.

Mikjel makes it the rest of the way over the fence before he speaks again. "Yup. Worked great. Kinda like it had done this before." He leans against the fence, considering. "As for the fence, it's just wire. Reckon we can pull it town to make it easier for Tornaq to get over. As to the gun, it ain't really worth it, even as salvage. Got pretty much the same one, and I'd rather get my traps and be out of the bush as soon as possible, just in case something's been listening to the fight, or smells the body." He waits by the fence for her, watching her actions.

"Maybe, hound do many times. Is possible," Monique muses, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. From what she's learned of the hounds, thus far, they're certainly creatures to avoid in the future. But there are likely other dangers in the woods that she's not aware of. She glances to Mikjel, and then she gives a small nod. "If not need gun, then best where is. If others need, others find. I not have need of it," she says softly, a small smile touching at the corners of her lips. She reaches out to the spear, then trails a fingertip along the metal of the spear before closing her fingers around the shaft of it and picking it up. Hefting it for a moment, she studies the weapon as she rises to her feet, and then she gives a small nod, seeming to be satisfied with it.
A glance is given to Tornaq, and it's as though something passes between them, unspoken, and he follows then as Monique makes her way over towards the fence, to climb it. "Not need pull far. Tornaq can jump," she says, her dark eyes showing a hint of a sparkle to them.

Mikjel waits until Monique has climbed the fence, then rests his weight on the fence, lowering it a bit in an attempt to help the bear over. Leaning there, he says, softly, his voice slightly muffled by the helmet. "About what it said. Had enough truth to it that it could feel right. Am wearing a Coalition kit, but it ain't like I came by it through honest work. Won it off a drunken officer up in Iron Heart. Got out of town before he sobered up. Served me well for the past half-dozen years, so I ain't inclined to give it up just because it looks a bit out of place." Once the bear has made it over the fence, he turns to continue walking to the next trap.

After taking a moment to secure the spear at her back, she then climbs up and over the fence, landing lightly on her feet on the side Mikjel is on. Her dark eyed gaze turns to him then, and she tilts her head a little to one side, listening as he speaks. She gives a small nod, a smile touching her lips. She reaches out to the fence, to help in pulling it down as well.
"Yes. Feel right. But... sometimes, what feel right, not right," she says thoughtfully. Tornaq takes a few moments of eyeing the fence, giving a rumble of sound. Shaking himself off, he backs away a distance before lumbering forward and jumping over the fence. Once on their side, he shakes himself and gives another rumble of sound. "Is not bad way for get armor. Understand can be hard get good armor... so, when find or get, keep and use," Monique says softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She believes his explanation, offering him a warm smile as she releases the fence and steps over towards him.

Mikjel gives her a nod, glancing back over his shoulder and continuing on toward the next trap. Before too long, both traps, both empty, are stowed away and the three of them are on their way back toward the clearing. "Just a good thing that we only ran into one. Coulda been powerful messy if we'd had to get away from a whole pack. Them hounds, they know the woods well, and plenty of them work together in groups to corner and hunt their prey. Reckon the one we met woulda run if you hadn't been as quick as you were."

Mikjel glances at the bear, the rumble making him choose his words carefully. "What I'd have done, it its shoes, woulda been to fire a shot or two when the trap missed." He pauses for a few steps, then says, "Thank you for that, Tornaq." His tone is pensive as he continues, "Woulda tried to wound, wear us all down a bit. When the arrows missed, I'd have run, either to transport or to another trap, that we'd miss because we'd all be too fixed on it. But that ain't the catch-" The three of you arrive in the clearing and he continues, pointing one gloved hand at the ATV. "I'd have started this all by taking my chances at wiring a charge onto the truck. That way, in the end, I just wait for the *boom*", his hand slaps his leg, making a loud noise, "and feed off the survivors..." He trails off, looking intently at the vehicle and the surrounding tracks.

Tornaq looks to Mikjel, studying the man for a lingering moment before expelling a whuff of a breath. His attention turns back to Monique, then lowers his nose to touch his nose to the back of her shoulder. It's a slight touch, but it's enough, and then he lifts his nose again, taking in the scents of the area. After a moment passes, the great white bear turns his gaze back to Mikjel and gives another rumble, though this one seems somewhat questioning in nature.
Monique takes a moment to look from Mikjel to Tornaq and then back again, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Wound and trap is good plan, too," she comments, her tone thoughtful. Once in the clearing, she brings her attention to their surroundings, startling at the loud and unexpected noise made from him slapping his leg. That it does startle her is enough to bring a blush to her cheeks, and she ducks her chin, glancing sidelong to Mikjel. "What if it try same thing?" she asks, tilting her head slightly to one side. She doesn't, as of yet, look to the tracks in the area. Though Tornaq puts his attention to the scents, lowering his nose a little to whuffle at the ground a bit.

Mikjel nods at her, slowly, then begins to approach the vehicle. "I'm gonna check out the truck, just in case." He turns, looking back at woman and bear. "Tornaq, could you all check if anybody but us have been poking around the clearing? I reckon you all can tell my smell from someone else in similar clothes by now."
With that, he begins inspecting the ATV, first crawling underneath, then checking behind each tire and finally, with a wince and a flinch away, opening the bonnet and examining the engine. Finally, with a sigh, he says, "I reckon it's clean. And that means that either it didn't have decent equipment or else it ain't been trained proper at this game."

"Is good, to check," Monique says, turning her attention towards the truck when he mentions it. She frowns a little, mildly concerned, then looks to him, studying him in turn. Tornaq gives a rumble and a nod, then starts to wander the clearing and the area around the truck, searching for scents of others than them. "Tornaq know smells. Can tell," she says, a smile touching her lips. "Maybe not full trained. Is possible," she muses, her brow furrowing a little.
She lifts one of her shoulders in a slight shrug, then starts to approach the vehicle as well, looking it over before her gaze settles upon Mikjel again. "Lay traps often, for rabbit?" she asks, curiosity touching her voice.

Mikjel finishes inspecting the engine, climbing down and closing the bonnet on the ATV. "I ain't seeing nothing, no." To her question, he nods, saying, "When I can. Easiest animal to catch in these woods that's good to eat. Reckon when spring comes, I might try seeing if there's a farmer around who'll sell me a few live ones. Folk are willing to pay more for a living bunny than a roaster."
He walks to the door, saying, "If you all don't see no signs, I reckon I'll try starting the engine. He pauses, then adds, "Might want to stand back for that, in case we all missed something."

Tornaq lifts his nose from gathering the scents, swivels his ears a little, then gives a rumbling sound before stepping over to Monique and touching her shoulder. "Tornaq say, no others come. Animals yes. People, other... no," she relays, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Can catch rabbits. Not need wait spring for them. Can catch little ones -- babies -- in spring. Can make cage, keep and breed more," she says, tilting her head slightly to one side. "Can start truck. Unless others not have scent, they not come," she offers, quirking a smile. She doesn't move further away from the truck, trusting in the bear's judgement.

Nodding at her statement, Mikjel unlocks the ATV. "Yup. Reckon I could, but the traps I've got ain't good but for catching them dead. Reason I was thinking spring is that it'll be easier to keep them in food if I wait until things start growing again." He climbs up and into the driver's seat, leaving the door open. The knowledge that the bear couldn't smell anyone else in the clearing is enough to keep his hands from shaking as he turns the key in the ignition. The engine turns over, and there is a soft hum as the electric motor begins to run. Best of all, there is no explosion.

"Can make new traps, for catch live. Not hard," Monique comments, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. A smile tugs at the corners of her lips, and she steps closer to the ATV, the great white bear following her. Watching him, she chuckles softly before lifting a hand to brush aside a stray lock of her hair, tucking it behind one of her ears. "Is food under snow, if know where look," she points out, a smile tugging anew at the corners of her lips.
"If not go too fast, Tornaq run beside. He not mind," she offers, looking to the bear before bringing her attention back to Mikjel. The great white bear steps up behind her, lowering his nose to touch her shoulder and giving first a whuff of air before giving a rumble as well.

Mikjel nods easily as he steps out of the vehicle. "Fair enough. Won't try driving at more than his walking pace. Wouldn't be fair, I don't think." He points to the deer, then, the cleaned bones dangling near the edge of the clearing. "Mind giving me a hand with it? If you give the rope a tug, should give me the slack I need to untie the knot." As he walks over to the tree to which the rope is attached, he adds, "Can make more traps easy enough, but what I've got with me ain't live traps. Weren't planning on making a whole enterprise out of this."

Monique tilts her head slighly to one side, and then she gives a small nod. "Sound fair, yes," she agrees, a smile tugging her lips as she looks up at him. She steps back from the ATV, then looks towards the deer's carcass before giving a nod, and then stepping towards it. "Not mind help," she comments, looking over to him.
She steps lightly over to where the rope is, then lifts a hand to take hold of the rope's end and give it a tug, as he'd directed her to do. "I not usually make long hunt trip, either. Day, two... then move. Sometime back to city, sometime not," she muses, her brow furrowing a little. Her dark-eyed gaze turns towards the carcass where it hangs, and she pulls on the rope a little more, to see if it gives enough slack for him to get the knot.

As Monique pulls on the rope, the end nearer Mikjel gains some slack. He uses that to untie the rope from the tree, pulling it free before saying to her, "It's OK now. You can let it down." He steps away from the rope, saying, "I were planning on making this a few days, but after all that's happened, getting back to town is looking powerful good right about now." Looking over at her as he steps slowly toward the carcass, he adds, "Like I said, got a firepit there. Can use it to finish drying your deer."

His words gain a nod from her, and then she releases the rope for him, to be able to retrieve it. She offers him a warm smile, then steps closer to him before giving a small nod. "Town good, yes. Will share deer, in trade for use fire and for help you give," Monique says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it. "Can help with next hunt, if want? Can make traps to bring," she offers, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Tornaq remains near to the vehicle, nosing a little bit near it, gaining scents and the like, though he does occassionally glance towards the pair. Not seeming too worried.

Mikjel nods at her as he collects the rope. "Gonna leave the body here for the coyotes and coons." Walking back toward the ATV, he says, "Yeah, reckon we can rig the fire up so it dries and smokes the meat easy enough." He climbs in, leaning back out to offer her a boost, mindful of her injured arm. "Might as well get it back to town. Shouldn't be dark by the time we get in, and we can get the meat set to drying. What with the parts I live in, might be wise if we keep an eye on it, though. I reckon if we leave it alone, we'll come back to no meat at all." Pausing a moment, he adds, "And I'd be happy to come with you next time you decide to go hunting. Don't think you all are liable to run out of venison for a while, though."

"Is good. Tornaq say, is fox and raccoon here. They come, clean bones," Monique says, a smile tugging her lips again. She follows him over to the vehicle again, but takes a moment to look to the clearing, her dark-eyed gaze passing over it. There's an almost wistful expression to her features, but then her attention shifts back to Mikjel, and she smiles warmly at him.
She accepts his help in getting into the vehicle, looking to him and giving a nod. "Thank you," she says softly, a bit of a blush claiming her cheeks. "Will stay, will help with meat, until is dry. Not take long prepare and have set out for dry," she says, a smile touching her lips. She steps further inside the vehicle, then settles, making herself comfortable. "Have meat for while. Winter come, long cold. Need make good store," she muses, her tone holding a thoughtful note to it. "Like your company. Like your help," she adds, smiling warmly at him and watching him.

Mikjel looks over at her, giving her a smile as he slowly turns the ATV around, avoiding running over the deer or bumping Tornaq. He sets out toward the road again, saying, softly, "Like your company too." A sudden grin as he lets the vehicle coast to a halt. Motioning to the steering wheel, he says, "Ain't nothing to hit out here. Wanna give it a try? If you ain't drove before, who knows. You might find that it's a little fun."

Tornaq is watchful of the vehicle himself, and so keeps out of its path, making his way near to it. He casts glances towards it, knowing that Monique is within, and at the same time keeps his eye on the surrounding area as well. At his words, Monique blushes a little, her chin ducking slightly, and she looks to him through her lashes. She hadn't expected the words, it would seem. Outside the vehicle, when it halts, Tornaq gives an inquisitive sort of rumble, studying it from his vantage point.
"I not know how... not do before," she says softly, looking to the steering wheel and then to him. "It work like dogsled?" she asks, curiosity touching her voice as she moves closer to him and the offered steering wheel.

Mikjel slips out of the driver's seat, moving to one side to let her sit down. Giving her a smile, he says, "Ain't all that complicated. Meant for folk who ain't that big on learning to be able to use." Pointing at each in turn, he says, "That's the steering wheel. Think of it like the reins or whatever you use to turn a sleigh. Down there on the right, that's the accelerator. Push it, it's like putting the whip to your draft animals. On the left, that's the brake. Like reining in the animal."
Finishing his explanation, he says, "The lever beside you is the gear box. It's set in forward, so ain't no need to touch. The two dials in front of you say how fast you're going and how much battery's left. Don't worry about the second, but keep the first below fifteen clicks." With that, he kneels beside her, alternately watching the field in front of the ATV and the woman driving it.

After he vacates the driver's seat, moving aside for her, she settles into it, though with more than a little bit of nervousness. It's brought by nothing more than her unfamiliarity with such technological things or how they work. She gives a small nod to each part that he names, finding herself thankful that he relates them to terms that she can at least relate to. As he explains the pedals and their significance to the movement of the vehicle, she looks to them, then tries to reach them with one of her feet.
"Not able reach... can be closer?" she asks, looking to him through her lashes. When he talks about how fast the vehicle is to be kept at, she blinks a little and looks to him, then tilts her head to one side. "Fifteen...? Is what, this? I not know," she asks, curious. At one point, she had been learning numbers and how to write, but that was some time ago, and she hadn't got very far.

Mikjel leans forward, tapping the left-hand dial. "When you press the accelerator, you're gonna go faster. Just push it a little at a time, and you'll be fine. This dial here, don't let it get past the third tick. Faster than that, Tornaq's gonna have to run to keep up." He shifts forward, leaning over her to pull a catch at the bottom front of the seat and move it up until her feet can reach the pedals easily.
Sitting back on his heels, he looks up at her and gives her a smile, saying, "Put your right foot on the right pedal, your hands on the wheel. Push the pedal, slow, and we'll start moving. Turn the wheel the way you want to go." Likely fortunately, the ATV has about a mile of open meadow in front of it, so there's nothing to run into.

Monique looks to the dial he indicates, her brow furrowing a little, and then she gives a small nod before looking closer, to see that third tick he points out. "Ah... so, dial so how fast we go, how fast Tornaq need go," she confirms, raising an eyebrow slightly as she looks to him. She glances to the catch that he works to move her up, and then she blushes a little before giving a small nod. She follows the instructions, placing her right foot on the pedal and her hands on the wheel.
Chewing a little at the inside of her lower lip, she pushes the pedal, just a little. It's not quite enough to make the vehicle go forward, but she pushes it a little more and actually does get it to move -- slowly. Nudging the pedal again, she gets the vehicle to five clicks, and a bit more brings it up to ten. And it's a very good thing that there's open space, since she's intently looking at the dial instead of where it's going. Dogs don't work with dials!

Mikjel sits back, giving her uninjured shoulder a little squeeze, encouraging. "Ok, try keeping us at this speed. Tornaq ain't liable to have to work to keep up with us at this pace." A grin as he points to the windshield with his other hand. "Might wanna look up there, though. That way, you can see as to where we're going. Just keep your foot pressing about this hard, and use the wheel to steer where you want to go. As to the wheel, it's like using reins. Turn it left, we go left, turn it right, we go right. Same kinda pull to it. If you wanna try steering, though, do it slow-like too."

Giving a little nod, Monique looks to him at the squeeze to her shoulder, and a smile lights her expression. She keeps her foot at the same pressure on the pedal, then blushes a little when he indicates the windshield. "Is probably good, yes... look where going," she comments, blushing a little as she looks to him, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. She looks up and out the windshield, to see where the vehicle is going, and she does try steering a little -- turning slowly to the left first, then back to the right. "Is different, than dogs. With dogs, can feel pull... from run. Is pull, but different," she says softly, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Mikjel gives her a warm smile as he sits beside her, one hand on her shoulder, leaning against the driver's seat. "Yup. Ain't that different from driving a sleigh or a skidoo. Just takes a little getting used to, and I reckon that you've got some time to do that, seeing as we've got a bit of field to the road and a bit of road to town." Another soft squeeze then, as he adds, "You're doing great. Just keep your eyes on the windshield and keep going at this pace and I reckon you'll be fine."

"I not know skidoo," Monique says, taking her attention from the windshield to look to him. At his praise of how she's doing, she blushes and ducks her chin, then gives a little nod before turning her attention back to the windshield, to watch where the vehicle's going. Tornaq continues as he had been, padding away outside the vehicle and looking to it now and again, apparently comfortable with the surroundings since he gives no sign of being in any distress at all. "Is not hard, but used to pedal be brake," she says, glancing to him for a moment before looking out to the road again.

Mikjel nods at her. "Brake's the other pedal, but the pace we're setting, ain't like you'll really need it." Considering for a moment, he fumbles with a few latches on the ceiling, finally removing a panel that he sets beside the passenger door. Returning to squat next to her, he explains, "Roof comes off. Just realised that you're likely used to figuring speed by the wind on your face. Least this way, you'll get a bit of the wind in your hair." Settling in again, his hand once more on her shoulder, he doesn't appear that uncomfortable with the wind being chilly early winter weather.

Monique gives a little nod when he explains the brake, though she keeps her other foot from it. Instead, she keeps her foot on the pedal, trying to keep the pressure on it even. She blinks a little as she looks to what he's doing with the latches, and a bright smile lights her features, a delighted sparkle showing in her dark eyes. "Yes," she agrees, eyes bright, and then she looks again to the road, remembering that aspect of things. "Is part of how tell how fast going. Depends on if already wind blowing. Know, too, by dogs. How they run, how they move," she says thoughtfully, then turns to look at him, smiling warmly at him.

Mikjel gives her a smile, looking her in the eyes before pointing to the windshield. He laughs softly, saying, "Best to be looking forward, in case something runs out in front of us. But yeah, you can get an indicator of how fast we're going by listening to the engine too. The speed gauge is accurate, but right now, the motor's making kind of a low hum. If you press down a little more on the accelerator, then let up again, you'll hear the engine noise change, get different tones to it." A grin and a touch on her shoulder as he adds, "Might as well go ahead and give that a try while we're still out here in the open. Push down, then let back up again."

The small woman ducks her chin a little and blushes before giving a small nod and looking again out the windshield. "Happen often, things run?" she asks thoughtfully, considering the notion for a lingering moment. As he explains about the motor's noise, she looks to him at the touch of his hand to her shoulder, and a smile tugs her lips, her eyes showing a sparkle. She tilts her head slightly to one side, then gives a small nod before looking out the windshield again and applying a little more pressure on the accelerator. Then a bit more before easing her foot off the pedal, and her brow furrows slightly. She does it a second time, studying the sound of the engine as it changes, and then she gives a small nod. "Is different, yes. Noise change," she says, looking to him with another smile.

Mikjel shrugs. "Out here? Chances would be that it's gonna be a woodchuck or a fox that'll run in front of you. You ain't going fast enough that you're likely to hit them, though." At this pace, it takes them a bit under three hours to get back to the city.
Once they approach city streets, he takes the wheel again, pointing out that, unlike out in the country, here they might have to deal with human obstacles, and it would be unkind to hit them. He drives all the way through town, taking a road past the junkyard, to a nearly-empty lot in a trailer park, where he parks and hops out, offering her a hand to help her down.

Tilting her head slightly to one side, she looks to him before giving a small nod. "Good, not hit. Not want hurt animals without need," she says softly, her tone holding a thoughtful cast to it.
Once they're back to the city, she willingly relinquishes the steering wheel and pedal controls to him, trusting his driving much more than her own for the human obstacles. She kneels next to him while he drives, her hands resting in her lap and watching as he maneuvers the vehicle. And once to the empty lot in the trailer park, she rises to her feet and steps towards the open door.
A warm smile is given to him, and she accepts his hand, bringing one of hers to rest in his as she steps down from the vehicle. "Thank you," she says softly, smiling at him again.

Mikjel gives her a grin and begins rummaging around a bit. From his woodpile, he pulls four long branches. By way of explanation, he says, "Gonna cut points on these, bind 'em to the grill over my firepit. We wanna get fancy, we rig a line so the roof of the truck can hang over top and bounce smoke and heat back down. That done, we can get a slow burn going and then, well, sit back and entertain ourselves as we wait for meat to dry." Gesturing toward the ATV, he says, "If you all wanna get the meat out, I'll start rigging the dryer for it."

Monique watches him as he rummages amok, and her brow furrows a little. She smiles brightly at his explanation, and then she gives a nod, understanding. "Will work like hang skin. Do similar. Is good plan," she says, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. She steps around to the back of the vehicle, opening the back of it carefully, a bit hesitantly.
Tornaq steps over to where she is, rumbling softly, then pokes his nose into the back of the vehicle. Nosing around a little, he grabs the bundle of meat and withdraws, carrying it, and he brings it over to the fire. Settling it there, Tornaq whuffs a breath and looks to Mikjel before settling on his rump.

Mikjel works quickly, but with care, first using a knife to sharpen four stout sticks into stakes, then pounding them into the ground around the oil drum. Some wood and tinder is added to the latter, a small fire started. The wire mesh, removed from the top of the drum, is placed on the stakes, held there with loosely-nailed branches and a few nails.
Once that is in place and he's tested the sturdiness, he steps back, saying, "I reckon you all could start putting the meat on that now. I'll see about rigging up something for the overhead," before clambering up into the ATV.

The small Inuit woman watches, helping if she can, and once the mesh is put up, she smiles brightly at him. "Is good, yes," she says, her eyes sparkling with delight. "Will start with meat," she affirms, then steps over to the bundle of it.
She unfastens the bundle, then starts to put up the thin slices of the meat, which at least started to dry on the fire out in the woods. After putting up a handful of the slices, her attention shifts to Mikjel, just to watch him. Tornaq lowers his nose to touch her shoulder, whuffing softly, and Monique returns to the task at hand with the meat.

Emerging from the ATV with the roof panel and picking out another branch, this one longer, Mikjel has set to carving it with a knife. One end is sharpened to a point, while the other is given a notch. This gets hammered into the ground as well, before he ties one end of the rope around the end of the branch, threads the other through the mounting holes and finally pulls it through the ATV's side window. Warning her to mind her head, he pulls the rope partially taut, so that the metal panel dangles about half a metre above the fire and the meat. Looking over at her with a grin, he asks, "Right height to bounce the smoke and heat back, you think?"

Watching him choose the stick for the panel, a smile tugs at the corners of her lips as he sharpens the end of it, her dark eyes showing a sparkle to them. She continues with the meat, though, placing it on the mesh piece by piece and not really being in a hurry to do so. Looking to him at the warning, she gives a nod, mindful of it, and a smile tugs her lips again. "Look right, yes. Is good height," she affirms, then brings her dark eyed gaze back to him, watching him for a moment again. She remembers herself, though, returning to putting the meat up again so that it can dry.