Duck Lake the long fall

Winter grips the land.

Ever since her first, the princess had waited a cycle to experience it again. When the earth grows cold and quiet and even the lowlands are blanketed in thick snow, there is a lonely sense of purpose that draws her forward.

Once, it had been towards the woods where her brothers played. Now, it sees her crouched among the frigid reeds eyeing a flock of bright-plumed ducks upon the frozen lake. For loneliness brings hunger too.

She wonders which is the best target. Perhaps it is the young female with the broken leg, or is it the male with the damaged wing? Breath smoking, Fúyáo spares a moment to think.

@Uktark ?

!

uktark halted at the treeline where the ice met reed and snow. he saw her then—small against the lake, crouched with intent, weighing weakness with a hunter’s eye. he did not announce himself. this was not his take.
he settled into stillness, watching the way she read the flock, the patience in her pause, the quiet discipline of her breath. skill showed in moments like this, before the strike. uktark waited to see if she had it.

The presence of another escapes her as both eyes remain fixed on the flock. Her targets loaf on the outskirts; perhaps a well-timed strike could catch them off-guard?

Fúyáo's tail twitches impatiently. She has hunted before, yes, but never for survival. Never to fill a hollow, aching belly. Never without a pack.

Amateur impulse drives her hurtling towards the injured female in a flurry of snow as the flock explodes around her with frightened squawks. She scans wildly, but it takes her a moment too long to spot the hen amongst the chaos. For in that moment, she has already taken flight, and Fúyáo's clumsy leap yields her only tail feathers.

Seconds later, the princess stands panting and soaked atop the ice with nothing to show for her efforts.

faust had watched the whole thing without moving, eyes flat, unimpressed. close—yes. but close did not feed bellies.
when her back turned, he was already gone from where he stood.
snow whispered once. then his shadow fell over her.
he appeared behind her like something pulled out of the ice itself, breath huffing sharp against her shoulder in a single, curt sound—not a threat, not comfort. correction.
his head cocked, chin angling toward the reeds at the lake’s edge where a small knot of rock ptarmigan huddled low, half-buried, foolishly still.
there.

Stupid. Wrong duck. Of course the hen could fly. As her breath slows to a huff, Fúyáo wallows in her long fall from grace. The dark sky seems to share her sorrows.

"你怎么回事?!" A puff of air on her shoulder sends her skittering backwards, fluffed up like a disgruntled feline as she realises the sun is eclipsed by a man. "Say "hello" first? Creepy man."

His stony expression betrays no immediate threat though Fúyáo puts a healthy distance between them before following his gaze. He has gifted her another chance. 

A discordance between the slow wag of her tail and the sharp look she casts him. Together?

uktark did not rise to her words. they slid off him like meltwater.
he turned instead, already moving, trusting instinct over talk. a few paces on, he slowed—shoulder angling just enough to invite her alongside him, not behind. together, if she chose it.
the snow dipped ahead, reeds thinning, earth scratched and warm beneath the crust. groundbirds. tucked low. huddled.
uktark lowered his head and breathed out a quiet huff, barely more than air—
hello.
to her. since she was so inclined.
his tail stilled. his pace matched hers if she took it. the hunt waited, fragile as breath, and he left the choice in her paws.

He is not much of a talker, which irks her slightly. Her mouth opens, but he is already off and soon she is trotting easily at his pace through the snow. Perhaps she could learn a thing or two from this dark stranger.

Fúyáo is a lighter reflection of his shadow, mirroring his posture as they descend upon the patridge's domain. He mutters a word she cannot discern - and it is then the princess realises that, for the first time, she is alone with a man who is not her brother's, who is not her father nor uncles.

And something beyond hunger stirs within her belly.

With restraint, Fúyáo gestures curtly with her tail. You be a distraction, she mouths, before stalking panther-like behind their quarry. She would not be so rash this time.

uktark caught the flick of her tail without breaking stride. understood.
he did not look back. a quiet huff left him—acknowledgement, nothing more—and then he peeled off from her line, widening his path through the snow. heavy on purpose now. careless on purpose.
he snapped a twig beneath his paw. let his weight show. let the birds feel him coming.
their heads lifted. bodies tensed.
uktark moved again, angling wide, drawing eyes and nerves toward him, jaws clacking once as he surged just enough to scatter attention.
the opening was hers.
he trusted her to take it.

小 山猫, they used to call her. Little lynx.

She stalks as one, letting her head sink low until her gaze falls level with round bodies, wetting her nose to drink in their scents. A gorge of winter seeds and berries promise a fat prize, if she can take it. Timing is everything. 

Watching the rising ruffle of their feathers, the anxious stretch of their wings, Fúyáo is ready when they erupt from the bushes at his feint, kicking against the frozen ground and surging skywards in a twisting leap.

Iron coats her tongue as her teeth snag a wing, landing deftly and finishing the kill with a swift bite to the neck. And while her chest heaves from the effort, her eyes dance wildly for him.

uktark watched the strike without moving, eyes narrowed, weighing every beat of it—the wait, the timing, the clean snap at the neck. no waste. no panic. good.
when her gaze flew to him, bright and searching, his tail lifted once in a slow, deliberate sweep. approval, plain and unmistakable.
patience is key, he said, voice rough but even.
he stepped aside, giving her the space, the ground, the moment.
the kill’s yours.
a pause—longer than needed. speaking did not come easy.
his gaze settled on her again, steady, measuring.
name?

Around a mouthful of feathers her lips peel in an instinctual grin-snarl, followed by a slow and apologetic wag of her tail as if she is surprised at her own aggression.

Already she can feel his cool, judgemental stare. Though it does not come, and his unexpected words bring a prickling warmth to her skin that perhaps reflects a more selfish thought; she wouldn't have shared with him anyway.

Thrusting the bird at her feet, she spends an awkward moment devouring the thing in silence with a slovenly greed unbefitting of her status before finally acknowledging his question. Her name?

"白 扶摇." Clearing her throat, she sits regally tall, if one were to ignore the feathers stuck to her chest. "I am Princess Fúyáo. And you?" In the common tongue, for less civilised ears.

a huff leaves him—half a scoff, half a breath of amusement—as he watches her try to reclaim dignity with feathers still clinging to her chest. his mouth curves despite himself.
princess, he repeats, tone rough but not unkind. an excuse-me of a word. then his chin dips, brief, acknowledging what she is without bowing to it.
uktark, he says. it has been a long time since the name has left his mouth. of grey fangs.
his eyes flick once to the bird at her feet, then back to her face, steady and appraising. approval sits there, unspoken.
you learn quick, little princess.

Despite the season, she feels the warmth spread to her cheeks. Was he mocking her? Fúyáo would keep up appearances for as long as the wilds allowed it, though the look on his - Uktark's  - face said that she has earned some respect.

A pale paw reaches to smooth her pelt, proudly. Little princess? Now it is her turn to scoff. "I am not little anymore," she laughs. "I know some things, Uk-tark. Like birds are fun to kill with friends." His attention did feel rather nice.

Catching him eyeing the bird, she pushes what's left of the carcass away. Little meat was left, and surely he did not want the bones. Curiosity brings her to ask: "Where is Grey Fangs?"

uktark watches her a moment longer, unreadable, before a low huff leaves him—something between amusement and concession.
princess, he corrects simply. not little.
his head turns then, muzzle lifting toward the cut in the land where stone teeth rise on either side—two jagged peaks, split by the narrow vein of the bypass. his tail flags once, confident, sure.
grey fangs live there, he says, voice calm, grounded. between rock and shadow.
his gaze returns to her, steady, appraising—not dismissive.
come? he adds after a beat. not a command. an offer.

That is better, her eyes sparkle with acceptance.

Following his gaze to the twin peaks, she feels a tug in her chest, a yearning, perhaps, though it is gone the instant his words hang like droplets in the air. "No," comes her firm, almost incredulous reply. She does not want to go home with this man! They have only just met. 

In fact, Fúyáo cannot see herself with any man, not yet. Not until bàba has learnt a lesson. "But one day, maybe," she adds, a little softer. "We can hunt more. And talk more over a big meal, yes?"

Her tail waves low, head tilting though her attention remains on the distant horizon. "You go home to Grey Fangs now?"

uktark does not move when she asks.
no turn toward the peaks. no pull of the valley.
he watches her instead, steady, measuring, something intent behind his eyes. a slow breath leaves him through his nose.
no, he says simply.
his tail lowers, relaxed but sure. not yet.
a pause, then—quiet honesty, rare. “i stay.”
he shifts his weight, settling near the carcass, claiming the moment rather than the land. hunt more, he agrees. eat. talk.
his gaze lifts to her again, intent but unpressing. i give you reason.