Mount Apikuni some would sing and some would scream

the canid crept low over the rocks, rat clenched firmly in her jaw. claws clattered dully against rock; each step careful. the mountain was crowded, scent trails well worn into the rock and hard earth. despite the comfort and security her nook provided, she felt it time to leave the mountain behind, soon. 

finding a cleft in the rock, she curled carefully into the tiny space. this was made possible only by her diminutive form, which seemed the bend and twist in the manner of a raccoon as she arranged herself inside. once out of view did she swiftly tear open the rodent and begin her careful feast, sharp-cut gaze lingering on the rocks beyond.

a figure turns over, emits a groan. ysrirel dreams of fantastical things, of wolves turning into coyotes turning into rabbits, their skeletons warping, flesh shifting like curtains over a window. it is a light sleep, and she wakes from this dream easily. before anything else, her eyes open. then she stands up in cat-like fashion, her stomach empty and her mind still torpid.

in the breeze, she scents a nearby creature. it is not elil, but it is still cause for wariness. she follows the trail methodically, and comes to a gap in the rock. it is tight and its walls plunge the inside in deep shadow. ysrirel stares, the milky brown eyes nearly pupiless.

here comes another visitor to her hidey-hole carved in stone; this one made sharp like here. mixed-blood. her meal is not finished yet submission settles thickly over her like a shroud. tufted ears sweep back to rest atop her crown, and she takes but a single step into the light before sinking low, undercarriage grazing the stone and plume swept near her haunch. 

small note left her throat in meek greeting. her gaze blinks once over the bi-toned woman before settling on her chest, and she is silent.

coywolf. not unlike herself. even without the scent, ysrirel would have known from the sharper and smaller face, the large ears, slightly rounded, cupped hands. with curled lip, ysrirel asks reluctantly:

"why do you hide so?"

she sees the common language as somewhat of a necessary evil. it is coarse, it is rough, it is full of sounds which knock around the mouth like boulders. she speaks it like she is trying to dislodge something from her throat, complete with the unpleasant, tensed face. the ghost waits, patiently, armed by an unblinking gaze which refuses to relinquish its contact with the other woman's, no matter how far her pale head is bowed.