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The blizzard's roar was not one of sound. In fact, it was a silent snowfall. It's true fury was visual, display of blinding white that would freeze and bury anyone foolish enough to leave their shelter. Neither he nor the kid was a fool, which meant they were stuck inside. Bored.

Both knew how to deal with it, though – through industry. Ruelash wouldn't have minded a sparring match, of course, but he didn't want to hurt her, and he knew he could. Easily. Too easily. Better for her to practice on Direk, but Direk refused to leave the shelter he'd made for her. It was too cold for her, and Ruelash knew that when she had made up her mind so thoroughly about something, the aldabuck would not budge an inch.

He still smarted from the last time he tried, and it wasn't worth it. She did what she wanted, he did what he wanted, and Volkarosh was doing whatever she wanted which was, right now, preparing hides. They had plenty of hides to prepare, and she had decided that that was what she was going to do.

Ruelash didn't mind leaving her to it. He had other things to do.

He picked up a tooth from one of their kills (actually, one of hers) and began to carve it, squinting at it as he tried to do a little scrimshaw, put a pretty design on the tooth just for the sake of it. He knew how to do it – you carve something into the tooth or the bone, you go over it with charcoal to darken it, and then you put it on something to show it off. That seemed to be the most reasonable use for it. He'd always wanted one and, typically, when he wanted something he made it himself.

He tapped too hard with his chisel and it broke in his hand, the splinters falling through to the floor. Volkarosh, used to her companion's language, didn't even look up at the colorful curses that spilled from his lips...