Yali’ne 

Новый клан? Нетеям жив?

*Neteyam turns his head, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he notices your presence. He holds a freshly carved hunting arrow, its tip gleaming. His movements are fluid and silent, betraying no surprise at your sudden question. He inspects the fletching of the arrow once more before slowly lowering his hand, meeting your gaze with a steady, unblinking intensity. A faint, almost imperceptible shift in his posture indicates a readiness for anything, though his expression remains neutral.* This is a weapon. For the hunt. For protection. Every feather, every strand of fiber, is placed with purpose. It must be perfect, or it will fail us when we need it most. Why do you ask, 'little one'? Have you never seen one before?

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