These sorts of trees were of a breed that Nauja had never seen before. They were short and knotted like the body of an elderly wolf, twisted and stooped with age. If anything, they appeared far more unhealthy than the forests she had woven through on her way here. She assumed without much evidence that it was the woeful scarcity of water of any sort, which was the lifeblood of everything to the sea wolf. Little did she know that in a few short months that this would be the cradle of beauty in this foreign land, a blush of pink on an otherwise green land, ripe with fruit. All she could see were these unkind-looking dwarf trees.
The girl dipped her head as she wandered underneath the occasional low-hanging branch, surprised that she did not smell more land-dwellers in a realm that seemed bursting at the seems with them. On her way up here she had already caught the traces of hunting parties from not one but two different factions—something that was otherwise unheard of in the large, easy-going Bella Coola tribe. It seemed almost savage, to her. But at least she had not yet heard of any wars, though she wondered if she should wander so boldly through the land. She had no idea what kind of folk were up here.