Shadowwyn Moor another world

This one got away from me; could be RO if nobody bites. ^^;

Sulukinak crouched low in the snow, her breath coming in steady puffs that melted into the cold air. The old caribou moved slowly, its hooves slipping in the ice, its once-proud antlers now broken and bent. Its body was gaunt, its coat matted with frost and snow, and the glassy eyes stared blankly ahead, no longer seeing the world as it had in its prime.

The wounds on its neck told a tale of struggle—scored, fresh gashes that marked the caribou as a veteran of many battles, maybe against rivals or predators. She could hear its labored breath, ragged and weak, as it pushed forward, too tired to fight the elements anymore. Sulukinak’s gaze flickered over the creature, sharp and focused, the instinct of the hunt still burning deep within her, despite the exhaustion of everything else.

The caribou’s scent mixed with the bitter cold air, and she could hear it struggling through the snow again, its body desperate to find solid ground. It was on its last legs. It was weak. But still, the instincts of the great beast were alive in its veins, even if its body could no longer keep up. Sulukinak had been trained to track prey with a detached focus, to recognize weakness and seize it. But her mind was no longer clear. The memories of her mother’s rituals—the whispers of sacrifice and the chilling abandonments on the ice—flooded her thoughts. Each scar, each tremble of the animal’s tired legs, mirrored the wounds she still carried, both physical and emotional.

She thought of Suliya’s words, the bitter comfort she had tried to offer. Strength. What did she know of strength? How could she speak of strength when Sulukinak was broken, torn by memories that refused to leave her?

The words of her mother echoed in her mind—Conclave is for mother and child. It is not for children. Sulukinak’s heart clenched. It had been for the harvest, for the ritual that had cost her brothers. Had she been chosen to live simply because she fought for them? Or was it because she, too, had been cast aside like the rest? The winds on the ice had carried the dead, and she had survived—an unwilling offering, never meant to live.

Sulukinak stopped her advance, kneeling down behind a large snowbank, watching the caribou from a distance. It was a decision she had made without thinking—an act of will rather than instinct. She was not hunting the caribou anymore. She was hunting herself, trying to suppress the urge to lash out at the world around her, at the bitter truth of her own survival.

She sat there, frozen in her indecision.

As the wind howled around her, the weight of her thoughts bore down upon her like the pressure of the sea ice. She didn’t know what else to feel. All she knew was that, in this moment, she was both the hunter and the hunted—caught in a cycle that she had never chosen but had been forced to endure.

this looked lonely!

A girl, dark like Sun Eater, stalked the elderly caribou. Kenai remained distant as he trailed both wolf and prey, waiting for the other to make a move but she did not. Eggshell eyes flicked curiously from the staggering creature to the shadow as he recalled the man's wisdom. A weak caribou was a dead caribou; even without a hunter's input the beast would eventually succumb to the elements. 

"Why not put him out of his misery?" his voice was soft and thoughtful, accompanied by a chuff as he approached the kneeling girl. Fur tousled in the wind, his focus remained fixed on the caribou; its spirit was strong yet Kenai knew it suffered.

Sulukinak's ears flicked back at the sound of the stranger's approach, her sharp gaze narrowing as the wind carried his scent to her—male, young, soft in the way that did not belong to hunters. She did not answer at first, her eyes locked on the staggering caribou as it fought against the inevitability of its fate.

Why not let him? she replied at last, her voice low, tinged with a bitterness she did not bother to hide. Misery is the way of things. Her breath clouded in the air as she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of her eye.

Do you pity him, soft one? Sulukinak's tone was sharp, though not unkind, testing the resolve of the wolf who had dared to interrupt her vigil.

She remained silent for a long while and, for a moment, Kenai was sure she'd never speak. Nor even acknowledge him - not that he would have minded. He was far more used to fading into the background than he perhaps would have liked.

And so it took him by surprise when her gravelly voice finally broke the silence. It was not difficult to catch the sadness in her eyes and in her words too; but Kenai was not in a position to question why nor offer much comfort. Nor did he really know how. 

"A little. It can't be fun to die a slow death," he replied honestly, her question a welcome relief from the awkward tension. His tail waved slowly between his legs, though the rest of him remained still lest there was more to her temper than meets the eye.

The concept of fun wasn't something Sulukinak was familiar with. She was young, she should have had many hours of play stashed in her memory, but instead there was the shadow of survivalism; chasing her brothers, snapping at heels, the thunderous sound of her heart racing as if to compete with the tempo of her run — but fun? Death is not meant to be enjoyed.

But she did not know what else to say, and beyond that, Sulukinak was wallowing in her many tumultuous thoughts. Muradoii, muradoii, muradoii, her blood screamed in her veins! Lanzadoii, commanded Sun Eater's voice in her ears — only, not really. It was only herself and this cloud boy, and this elder creature for whom she awaited the falling of a crown.

She could make the passage easier - she could score that hide with her own mark and turn the snow red. Or, she could linger, conserve energy. The hunt did not have to be a struggle.