Lion Head Mesa i ne’er was struck before that hour

shisu marisol beliveau. the syllables were airy upon the tongue, relmyna imagined wryly, bitter only for the faint and rueful aching of her throat toward words she could not say. but her eyes softened; so the woman was new among them. and blackfeather had suddenly become a pack of femininity. a smile curved her torn lips and she returned to shisu an answering dip of her head.
"eh ... mih .. a," the woman attempted, a self-deprecatory blush rising beneath the pale fur of her cheeks; she pressed a paw to her throat, moving it to her chest. i cannot speak, but here is my name. or what of it i can say, the aspirant sighed within her own mind. and yet it must be done; she could not continue the rest of her life with no ability to speak to anyone beyond her daughters.