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

she gives a grin at her cousin's jest and at aure's approval, wagging her tail in earnest. it is settled, then, tashkent remarks, sea-green eyes glimmering. she presses her head against isleña's, breathing deep. biz jeñe alatın mindet, she purrs, not so innocent in her meaning.

qajet, qabılda. it is a phrase passed down from luk to luk for generations, the crux of their bloodline. she says it with quiet pride, not the battle roar of days gone by. . .but it holds the same strength, nonetheless.

tashkent nods at the idea of celebrating, though she does have to interject one thing. i will look for family, luks, in the mountains, she explains, trying to make her common tongue as simple as possible for her cousin while still including aure in the conversation. i will come whether or not i find them. . .but i must look.

but for now, we celebrate! tasha exclaims warmly, giving her cousin's cheek a nuzzle before extending herself in a mock play bow before aure. celebrate with old friends and with new, she adds, beaming fiendishly up at the white woman.