Hushed Willows [festival] so twice five miles of fertile ground

so many exclamations! so many questions! tashkent wants to answer them all and to embrace her cousin with fervor, but before she can, anger has clouded isleña's visage, and the woman hurls an accusation at her instead. she handles it in stride, lifting her chin primly and letting the heat simmer for a beat before responding. after all, isleña has no way of knowing what had happened. tashkent may as well have abandoned her.

tawlardan qulap kettim, she responds, stomach churning at the thought of it. she has no memory of the fateful fall, nor the moments that preceded it, but clearly recalls the aftermath—the pain, the emptiness. men oyanğanda, bul meniñ estelikterim bolmadı.

she lets out a breath, gaze level but wide, gently imploring isleña to understand. men jaqında tek kim ekenimdi esime tüsirdim. meni keşiriñiz, nemere ağası - men sizdi ädeyi tastap ketpeymin.

tashkent stretches out her muzzle as if proffering an olive branch of peace, her face warm but sorrowful, happy but contrite. she had not considered that isleña may have suffered just as much—if not physically, then at least in spirit—in the wake of her tumble down the cliff. now faced with it, she is sorry. luks were quick to anger and slow to forgive, and it may take a long while to regain her cousin's trust, if she indeed holds a grudge even after the explanation.