Wapun Meadow morningsong

all welcome;)!

the chill of the tundra wind brushed against suliya's coat, carrying with it the scent of the vast herd. the caribou moved in a steady rhythm ahead, their silhouettes a gentle wave against the horizon. she followed from the distance, her steps light and deliberate, each paw placed with care. her golden eyes trailed the shifting forms, noting the leaders, the stragglers, and the calves tucked safely in the center of the herd.

it was not hunger that drove her today; the blood of her lanzadoii heritage demanded more than mere sustenance. this was not a hunt—it was a study, a meditation. she walked with them, matching their pace, observing their patterns as if the secrets of survival lay etched in their migration.

the ground beneath her paws softened as she moved through patches of moss and frostbitten grass, the earth whispering its ancient secrets. suliya tilted her head slightly, ears flicking to the distant calls of the bulls, their voices carrying the weight of competition and leadership. her heart swelled with reverence; these creatures were more than prey. they were life, spirit, and tradition woven into her being.

pausing atop a small rise, she let her gaze drift, her breath steady and quiet. she did not need to draw closer to feel their power, their unity. for now, she was content to watch, the wild rhythm of the caribou guiding her steps, grounding her in the present.

As the huntress observed the captivating herd, Winter’s Wake observed the huntress.

She was fascinating, even from afar, appearing to mimic the majestic caribou as they churned like a river of antlers across the meadow. Sometimes he would take his eyes off her to watch what she watched, wondering what she sensed in them that he did not.

They were certainly beautiful in their own right; less graceful than the deer but more powerful; not as individually intimidating as the moose but moving as a cohesive unit. An act he’d only seen in birds.

Still, they were just prey to him. And he obsessed over what the caribou-hunters saw.

He gave a low croon, low enough to cover the distance between them without also carrying to the herd. The winterwolf waved his tail and continued tentatively in her direction, allowing her the space to reject his advance.

suliya turned her head sharply at the sound, her amber eyes narrowing as they fell upon the figure approaching her. champagne and gristle, he looked like a relic of the frozen north, weathered and enduring. his low croon was soft, testing—like a pebble tossed into still waters.

she raised a brow, her gaze sweeping over him with quiet curiosity, but there was no dismissal in her demeanor. instead, her tail swayed gently back and forth, a deliberate motion, slow and inviting. the unspoken command lingered in the air like frost clinging to morning grass: come to me.

turning her gaze back to the caribou, she remained poised, her frame a picture of patience, though the edges of her lips twitched faintly with a hint of intrigue. she would not break the silence further. let him close the distance, let him explain himself. the huntress had time.

An invitation was given that the wolf cheerfully received.

He closed the distance with an easy, long-legged stride, joining her upon the rise while maintaining a civil distance between them. From this position, he could still take in her scent without getting close enough to offend her or otherwise provoke a strong rebuke.

She was a wolf of noble presence, gray-masked and soot-caped, regina by his account. To stand beside her was to be reminded of the rogue that he was.

I noticed you shadow the caribou, though it does not appear you were hunting. His observation was given in the tone of earnest curiosity, made without judgement. Are you studying them? I hope I am not interfering.

Dark eyes drank in the herd once more, before turning to partake of her again.

suliya's gaze lingered on the caribou as the man closed the distance between them. her ears twitched at his words, and for a moment, she did not answer, allowing the silence to stretch as she considered him.

you are not interfering, she replied quietly, her voice low and steady. she swayed her tail idly, a slow rhythm, before shifting her attention back to the herd. they are my chieftains and my prey. it is my way to follow. to understand.

her nose lifted slightly, catching the cool air that carried the herd's scent. and you, she asked, her tone even, though her gaze flicked toward him with faint interest, why do you watch them? what do you see?

The answer was only half understandable. The ruminants were her prey, of course, as they were of all wolves. But she also wanted to understand them? What an odd thing to say. Did she and her chieftain aspire to be the reindeer whisperers? Wake’s ears flicked thoughtfully as he regarded the regal she-wolf without judgement.

I watch them only to find the young or lame among them, he answered honestly, a soft chuckle quivering his whiskers. I do not know what else there is to see. A head tilt then; tell me?

she met his gaze evenly, her expression unyielding, though there was a flicker of curiosity in her amber eyes.

you see what you hunt. i see what they are, suliya replied, her voice low, a quiet weight in her words. the young and the lame will feed you, yes. but the herd tells stories. their trails carve maps through the land. their movements sing of storms, of plenty, of famine. and saatsine whispers through them.

her tail flicked, a subtle gesture, as if urging him to understand something deeper than her words conveyed. it is not just to hunt, but to know. to know the world we walk, through their eyes.

she tilted her head, mimicking his gesture almost unconsciously, her sharp gaze probing. does that make sense to you?

You see what you hunt. I see what they are.

Ah, spiritualists. Or latent naturalists, he supposed, depending on how deeply introspective they were and how literal their study. The way she spoke of the caribou, however, led him to believe it was the former.

There was a great love for the ungulates in her low, even tone, just by the way she spoke of them. With appreciation. In reverence. Her amber eyes looked for understanding upon his face and she would find it in the curve of his knowing satin smile.

It does. Almost a murmur, as his mind seemed to go beyond them, beyond her and the deer, back to a memory not-so-distant from this time. I am of the Rhythm people. You see in the deer what we see in the seasons. Their inevitability grounds us. Their occurrence is a thing to celebrate.

Was there joy in following the reindeer, too? They were certainly not as infallible as the four eternal seasons, in his opinion, but they each reaped personally from such an affair felt familiar to him.

she dipped her head slowly, the faintest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips as she acknowledged his words. the rhythm people, she repeated, her tone thoughtful, as though rolling the name over in her mind like a smooth stone. there is wisdom in that, to celebrate what is certain. the seasons come whether we thrive or falter, and yet they remain.

her amber gaze softened as it met his again, a flicker of curiosity brightening their depths. tell me more of your people, she asked, her voice quieter now, almost reverent. how do you live by the rhythm? what do you teach your young of it?

she paused, her gaze flicking briefly to the horizon, then back to him. perhaps there is joy in following the caribou. there is clarity. and a reminder of what matters.

They do indeed, Wake rejoined with a hushed laugh, still mindful of the herd. He wouldn’t want his voice to carry beyond the bubble of this conversation. All the while, he felt warm under her openly studious gaze, an inquisitive light to the honeygold of her eyes. The winterwolf privately basked in her attention.

Upon hearing her request, his eyes turned skyward, thoughtful. There is much to the Rhythm. No two wolves seem to follow it in exactly the same way. His smile was wistful as he looked at her again. But all of our people believe in destiny. Fate.

He thought back to what he’d been taught as a child. How he might explain it to her, an adult not raised in their line of worship. As children we are raised to know the cycle of things. The turning of the seasons and what they mean. We sing hymns to welcome them and enjoy feasts to bid them farewell. His recollection of these things were pleasant.

We also learn that each of us have a purpose to fulfill in our lives, a True Fate to seek out. Some grow towards light in that belief, some towards darkness.

He wondered what she thought of that. Did it seem silly to her?

suliya listened intently, her gaze steady and unblinking as he spoke of rhythm and destiny. her head tilted slightly, the grey  light of her eyes flickering with interest rather than judgment. the mention of hymns and feasts resonated with her deeply; the seasons guided the lanzadoii in their migrations, the changing world dictating their movements like an ancient dance. it was not so different from what he described.

purpose, she murmured, her voice low and measured, careful not to disturb the herd nearby. the seasons are sacred. they command us, too. their turning decides where we go, how we live. it’s not unlike your rhythm.

her gaze sharpened, brow raising slightly as curiosity overcame her. she wiggled closer, her voice still soft but with a pointed edge of inquiry. but you... you have no scent marker on you. why is that? do you wander without pack?

there was no accusation in her tone, only an earnest desire to understand the man before her, his place in this rhythm he spoke of so fondly.

Mm, the ideologue hummed in agreement. They are quite alike.

They seemed to understand one another; their perspectives differing yet intertwined. It was only surface level, but both imparted a sense of acceptance and quiet respect for the other’s path. As much as two strangers sharing a few sentences of knowledge could, anyway.

Sedately he watched as she inched closer. Though he appeared entirely relaxed, his skin felt sunlit and an aura of virile energy and self-confidence pulsed around him. He thrilled to see her take him in, reveled in the thought of his scent in her nose and in her thoughts. He would have it etched there permanently, given half the choice.

I am alone. An admittance made without shame. It is my fate for now. I must work to claim bonds for myself, just as I must find my own lands and lay claim to them. But there are many ‘may be’s’ ahead of me. There was a rhythm to things but there must also be goals, work, and sacrifice. And everything would either come into place in his orbit, or it would not be meant for him.

Perhaps it may be that one day your caribou will lead you near to me again. The winterwolf smirked.

suliya hummed softly, a sound low and thoughtful, her eyes glinting as they traced the contours of the winterwolf before her. she let the silence linger a moment longer, as if weighing the air between them.

suliya lanzadoii, she offered simply, her name a ribbon of sound as she dipped her head slightly in introduction. no more, no less. the words felt sufficient, for now.

her gaze flicked briefly toward the open expanse of land where the caribou would roam, then back to him. i will teach you of the caribou, she said, a faint curve at the corner of her lips. whenever you’d like.

her tail swayed once behind her, a slow, deliberate motion, before she turned her attention back to the horizon, the hum of the wilderness stretching infinitely around them.

if you want to find me, look for the caribou.

Suliya Lanzadoii.

The snowrunner carved her name into his marble thoughts, where only time could erode it. Her promise to teach him lingered on the air, as did his soft-as-silk smile. For as long as she left her bedroom window open to him, the rogue would gladly enter. I would like that, he nodded pensively, as if already bringing their time together to mind.

However, it was not his way to offer the same. The tenets of his people were to be sought by outsiders — not offered to them — for the roots to be true. His soul yearned to know that this was Fate at work, but he knew that he must also be a wolf of great patience. Discipline and instinct were needed in equal measure to make the heart of a Rhythm wolf.

She said then to look for the caribou to find her, and he chuckled. I am Winter’s Wake, he told her with an air of charmful pride.

And I do not need the caribou to find you, Suliya Lanzadoii.

He basked in her radiance for a final time and sighed deep, her name the last word he would utter, before turning to disappear in the same way he had come.