messages

He was answered with a howl of Tonravik's own—and, despite himself, a wave of relief washed over him. Tartok survives, it was confirmed. He hadn't realized that there had been a sliver of doubt held in his heart. They were strong, but famine was unpredictable and would test them. He was glad for Tonravik's resolve. Regardless of what else might have happened in his time away, it was a good sign that his elder sister remained.

When she emerged from the foothills, Tonraq remained still—he would not insult her by dodging the greeting that was his family's—that was Tartok's—way. He moved his shoulder into hers, and exhaled roughly into the furs of her neck. It is good to see you, the gesture said, wordless. Tonraq moved, then, but only enough steps back so they could see each other face-to-face; his dark chocolate eyes danced across her form as the yearling analyzed her health and stature. It was carefully done, his gaze never quite reaching hers, for he meant no challenge.

She remained silent, expectant, and so Tonraq simply rumbled, "We can."