Nova Peak ❇ Tosi

@Elowen Aeloria?

the hide of the arctic fox was draped carefully over her back, pale against her pale, as if the pelt itself had once belonged to her bloodline. it was clean. reverent. a gift, not a trophy.
between her jaws, a bundle of salted meat—prepared days prior, cured against time. the scent was sharp, briny with preservation. not enough to feed a den, but enough to strengthen one.
she found the den nestled where the rise met the trees, half-covered in a drift of old snow and dry brush. a quiet place. a safe place.
and she smelled them—mother and son. elowen. and the young one who cried like wind and whimpered like stone. kaldros.
silatuyok did not enter.
instead, she set the meat down gently at the threshold, placing the fox pelt beside it. her pale eyes softened, though her expression remained composed. she let out a whimper to signal her arrival.

the scent reaches her first. salt and snow, mingling with something softer beneath. not threat, not beast. a woman—a packmate! elowen stirs gently in her nest of hides and moss, her son curled warm against her side. he does not wake, but she does, the whimper pulling her gently toward the mouth of the den. a mother's instinct to follow the cry of another.

there she finds the gifts—carefully placed, carefully meant. a fox’s pelt, white like petals of baby’s breath, folded neatly with intent. beside it, meat salted against the world.

she sucks in a breath, a gasp. soft. her eyes turn to the visitor next, a warm, shy smile splitting across her maw. an appreciative wag of the tail at the woman before her.

"you are kind," she says, stepping out into the light, fur still tousled by sleep, but her voice warm with thanks. kaldros does not cry—only stirs behind her, sensing the absence of her warmth. "thank you. i'm elowen."

she knows this woman by scent, not yet by voice or name. a problem to fix, surely. she does not yet know this woman. but she would like to.

---

he moved with reverence as she always had, head bowed slightly in the way of her people, carrying no weapons but her scent of herbs and snow.
her ears twitched at the soft voice. kind. tired. grateful.
the pale woman’s chest swelled with warmth.
elowen, she repeated gently, her accent feathering the syllables with that musical lilt of her tongue. she dipped her head again, tail giving a small wag, brushing like breeze against her hocks.
i am silatuyok, she said softly. of nishkaw’tep. moon sky. then, a small pause, her eyes dropping shyly as she motioned to the fox pelt and the dried meat.
for warmth. for strength. a beat. you... gave new life. her voice hushed, reverent. wiyúupɨh—sacred thing.
then, slowly, cautiously, she looked toward the den’s hollow, where the pup stirred in shadows.
may i see him? she asked in barely a breath. not to take. not to touch. just to witness. to honor. her gaze glowed, and she smiled again, more fully now, bashful in her joy.