Hoshor Plains Oh, we said our dreams will carry us

The crone moved slowly across the plain, making herself visible for once. She had taken to huddling alone in a cave in the mountains, divining. Her dreams were murky and did not tell much, and there were no omens to be read in the stars or the grass or the rock. In short, Laqikki's vision was normal. There was no telling what was in the khalas' future. She supposed that was a good thing—no omen was better than a bad omen.

As she walked deeper into the territory, the familiar musk of a female in heat hit her nose, but its unfamiliarity made her wrinkle her lips. Laqikki once was Khaleesi of a very traditional khalas where non-wolf slaves were beaten within an inch of their life in breeding time to prevent this exact thing. Perhaps Rakharo was a softer Khal than her late husband, but Laqikki could not keep her prejudice in check, and was practically storming when she saw the Khal watching an eagle strip the bones of their latest trophy kill.

The crone approached him, slow and deliberate as always, and for a long while did not say anything. At last, she opened her mouth and croaked out, "Dout silit riika jalla ti qe tenpiswo jaka."