Herbalists' Cache raining fire

@Sivaak @Suliya

his meeting with sun eater leads him here. seeking out the woman named sivaak. he does not know her, it is by description only that he comes.
tasting her scent of faint iron and musk and milk, letting it lead him. nose to the wind. legs loping carefully over snow, with haste.
he stops at the burrowed snow. seeing first a slender pale woman, not sivaak. too feminine. smelling nicely. dark fang chuffs to her, saddling up arrogantly.
sun eater sends me. he says loudly. eyes peering then to the den where he sees red eyes glowering, smoldering at him. there is news. he says. war. he says you must move to safety.

suliya does not move.

her sharp gaze cuts to him, sizing him up. he is broad, arrogant—she can smell it on him, the confidence of a man used to taking space. but she does not step back, does not yield.

who are you? her voice is low, steady, laced with quiet command.

her tail flicks once. her body holds tension, muscles wound like steel beneath pale fur, but her face remains still, unreadable.

not go anywhere until sivaak say.

her head tilts slightly, waiting, daring him to press further.

she snarls.
loudly.
curling tight around the pups at her belly, letting her nostrils fill with the putrid scent of this cocky man who waltzes so bravely upon her shelter.
red eyes leer from the entrance, she leans forwards, taking two large whiffs of him. suliya strongly regards him, much to sivaak's please.
a rumble. then a growl again. make him go. harsh muradoii words.

he greedily looks upon this tall huntress. legs of lanzadoii but she is closely aligned with the dangerous muradoii tucked in the snow shelter. dark fang's eyes rake from her limbs to her face.
dark fang. he responds with calloused voice. brother of sun eater.
he does not know what the woman in the snow shelter says, but knows that he must tread lightly. he is no stranger to the wrath of women; wearing scars upon his flank from an ex-wife.
dark fang's tongue slides across red, bloodied teeth, stained by gore, and exhales in a gurgle.
sun eater's enemies make war on him. they come soon. the war chief declare war and then she leaves. sun eater says that clan will move soon and warriors will stay to fight war. he says that sivaak and children must go to safety. he says. chin tilting upwards with power and pride to deliver the words of his brother.
he says sivaak help him and he help her now.

suliya listens. the man speaks, but his words are as hollow as the bones of carrion-picked prey. he stands with the arrogance of one who believes his voice alone should command movement.

her lips twitch.

man know nothing of what it takes to be woman. her voice is quiet, but firm, a blade’s edge wrapped in silk.

she does not look at him for long. he does not matter.

instead, she turns, red eyes shifting toward the snow shelter where sivaak’s rage hums through the air. she understands it, feels it curl around her ribs, anchoring her to the earth.

suliya does not need the man’s orders.

she will talk to sivaak.

go, she murmurs, flicking her tail, dismissing him as one might an irritating fly. she will speak to the woman, and if a choice must be made, it will not be one handed down from a man’s mouth.

she hears the word and she only grumbles in response, content to tuck herself within her snow shelter and not move. she would listen to this war and revel in what happened.
or...
she sees suliya come close when the man leaves. sivaak growls from within, a low, rumbling noise; then clicks teeth. nudging children away and then emerging slowly from within.
paws crunching against old, hardened snow.
i fight. she says. you stay. the delusional rumblings of a veteran, and the woman makes to begin waddling off. belly still thick with milk.

suliya plants her paws firm in the snow, muscles coiled with unyielding defiance. she does not flinch as sivaak moves, does not step aside as the veteran makes her intention clear.

no! the word cracks from her throat, sharp as a whip, fierce as the storm winds that once howled through muradoii land. she blocks the path, head lifted, chest rising with the weight of her conviction.

you are muradoii. her voice does not waver, it burns. last of them!

her eyes blaze, searching sivaak’s own, daring her to see what she sees.

who will teach cubs? her breath clouds between them, but she does not falter. who teach me?

her jaw clenches. if you die, if you are lost, then what is left? only bones. only dust. muradoii will be nothing but a whisper on the wind, a name to be forgotten in the mouths of men who do not deserve it.

suliya takes a step forward now, pressing close, voice low, urgent. stay. live. teach.

she does not plead. she demands.

last muradoii.
sivaak would open her mouth to say not true, but does not. instead, these words resonate deeply with the woman. she would go to fight and feel fang on her fur like she put fang on fur in return, but these words stop her.
much to her anger! she snaps her teeth close to suliya's mouth, a reprimanding, a scolding that she raise voice to her in such way. suliya forget! sivaak shouts.
it is the disturbed mewling of her children that make her ears fold backwards, eyes flashing with something... unknown. a feeling that deeply disturbs her.
i go. she grits teeth. she grits teeth and turns, muscles bulging with wasted adrenaline. she goes, grabbing two cubs by the scruff between teeth.
emerging with fire in her eyes. wordlessly beginning to move.

suliya does not flinch as sivaak’s teeth snap close to her own, a reprimand sharp as steel. she only holds the older woman’s glare, jaw tight, fire burning beneath her skin. yes. she had forgotten—forgotten her place, forgotten the weight of her own voice. but she does not regret it. she would do it again if it meant keeping what remained of muradoii from vanishing into nothing.

when sivaak turns, when she grits her teeth and yields—not in spirit, not in will, but in action—suliya exhales a slow, steady breath. victory is not sweet. it is not something to relish. it is something to carry, like the cubs now warm against her chest.

without a word, she follows, matching sivaak’s steps with her own, red eyes cutting ahead, sharp as a blade. there is no time for celebration. only movement. only purpose.

the last muradoii would live. and they would remember.