Asgeir stank. He did not smell of Sangi'lak, even after several days of constantly being in its bounds and, often, being in close company with X'yrin. He stank of the open road. He had dust and dirt so far embedded in his fur that in places it would have discolored him. Oh, he had bathed while he was traveling, as often as he found a stream and a bunch of saponin-bearing plants, and often he would pick some and take them with him so he had fresh supply even if there were none by the next stream.

Since Nunavut, since his Karina had died, Asgeir had not cared one whit about his appearance. Joining Sangi'lak had put some of the fire back in his eyes, but underneath the semi-cheerful exterior the carpenter was still depressed. He had thrown himself bodily into working for the new pack, hoping to drive away the gloom, and to an extent he had been successful. But when his hands stilled, thoughts invaded, and he needed to find a way to get past that.

As he had walked through the forests to the far northeast of the territory, Asgeir's eyes had fallen on two familiar plants. He was no herbalist to identify all plants, but the spiked stems and white flowers of the sarsaparilla plant were fairly distinctive. Nearby, the shrub shape of wintergreen, with roughly oval leaves and red berries waved fondly at him. He sighed. Nothing like nature to remind you to take care of yourself. He plucked two of the wintergreen berries and knelt to dig up a few of the sarsaparilla roots. He continued chewing as he made his way to the lake, cradling the roots against him.

When he reached the shore of Adlarto'K, he collected two stones, each roughly the size of his hand, and crushed one of the roots. Then he waded out into the lake, wet the mush, and began lathering the suds against him. They were not as rich as human-milled soap, but they cleansed his fur and down to his skin as he massaged himself clean. It felt good, he had to admit, and left him smelling nice. When his body was coated down to the skin with saponin, he spat out the wintergreen, which had long since lost their fresh taste, took a deep breath, and ducked underwater, shaking himself as though he was trying to get dry to rinse himself. He repeated the maneuver several times till he could no longer feel the soap against his skin, then brushed his clean, if still matted, mane from his eyes. He chuckled as fish bobbed to the surface, stunned by some property of the soap. Ah, he had forgotten that side effect of the saponin.

He strode through the water, collecting a fair amount of medium sized fish. Dinner was served, and there would be more than enough for everyone, so they could be dried for later consumption. He carried the fish from the water, picked a few long blades of tough grass and plaited them deftly. Then he wove the plait through the gills of the fish and headed back to the dens with soft, clean fur and fresh breath.