Dawnlark Plains ⋆ Wāpēkwa

the air was sharp, biting down into her lungs with every inhale. siamiituuq welcomed it.
her paws pressed into the hardened snow, each step a reminder of the season’s grip, the way the land held firm against the weight of time. the plains stretched before her, vast and pale, broken only by the distant dark spines of trees that clung to the horizon. the wind carried nothing but the scent of ice and old tracks—elk, days old, not worth the chase.
her ears flicked, listening to the silence. not stillness, no—winter had its own voice, speaking in the way the frost settled and the wind curled against her fur. she breathed it in, slow, tasting the cold against her tongue.
this was a land of survivors!
she exhaled.

AW

cold gnawed at his ribs, carving through the hollows of his frame like a blade honed by winter’s patience. the air pressed into his lungs with each breath—sharp, bracing.
it did not belong to them. it belonged to the wind, to the snow, to the nameless ghosts that clung to the bones of this land.
lorcan moved through it, ice crunching beneath his weight. the valley stretched pale and endless, broken only by the blackened spines of trees along the ridge. elk, days old. useless. the wind carried nothing else. hunger burned low in his gut, but winter was patient.
he had a family to feed.

siamiituuq smelled him first—sharp, male, bigger. her ears flicked back, tail curling low between her hocks as she melted into the snow, her body drawn small against the vast white. she did not challenge him, did not dare, only let the tension coil beneath her skin like a string pulled taut.
he was close. her breath wisped in the cold, her ribs shuddering with the effort to remain still. she lowered her head, ears flat, pupils dark and wide with unspoken understanding—i do not want trouble.
a soft whine, a chuff barely above the wind. she licked her lips, an appeasement, shifting her weight to expose the vulnerable curve of her throat without fully submitting to the ground. her body, lean and thin beneath her thick fur, trembled lightly, but she did not run. flight would invite pursuit.
her gaze flickered, wary and quick. hunger carved both of them, but he was larger. stronger. she would not challenge him for whatever scraps remained. she only waited, ears pinned, the shallow rise and fall of her breath the only thing keeping her from dissolving into the snow itself.

he smells her before he sees her—thin, female, sharp with cold and distance.
not prey. not threat.
his steps slow. head lowers. not out of kindness, not quite. it’s the cold. the silence. the pull of a newborn’s cry still ringing in the back of his skull. he does not care for games. not today.
she shows her throat. smart.
lorcan stops a stone’s throw away, watching her through the steam of his breath. ribs press sharp beneath her coat—starved.
but so is he.
he doesn’t speak. doesn’t snarl. only stands. watching. listening.
his tail sways low, slow, not dominant—not yet.
she will not run. she knows better.
so he waits. just long enough for the wind to shift. for the tension to bleed, drop by drop, into the snow.

siamiituuq’s ribs flex with her breath, shallow and tight.
she does not move at first. just watches—yellow eyes half-lidded, low to the ground, belly soaking in the snow. her lips twitch once, not with threat but with the instinct to guard what isn’t hers. not yet. the hunger claws at her, gnaws her lean sides, but she waits. lets him see she won’t fight him for it. not if she doesn’t have to.
a small chuff leaves her throat, soft and airy, her muzzle tilting to the side in quiet deference.
then she rises—slow, creeping forward with her spine low and tail twitching at the tip. cautious. respectful. a crooked step. a pause. she slinks closer, stopping just out of reach, her ears swept back like river reeds in wind.
no words. only breath and hunger between them.
she gestures—not with speech, but a slight angle of her body, a tiny flick of her shoulder. a question.
share?