Ouroboros Spine v. two feet standing on a principle

His call is gentler this time when her spring gaze lifts to his pitch silhouette through the falling slivers of white, allowing the dove to trot up to him. The Eta lowers her auds and dips her tawny crown lower as she pads forward, stopping a few feet from him in case the shadow gets an inkling to lunge at her again. A wordless sound of submission leaves her throat by way of greeting, soft as the crunch of snow beneath paws. 

"I found the herd that lived in the lowlands," she began, wasting no time on pleasantries. "Our colony appears to have spooked them; they graze in the foothills of the broken mountain. But Sialuk's strange storm has injured the land as well as its wolves. I think they will return here soon."

"It is their home too," Lótë lilted, tones dropping ever so slightly as jade optics fall with an unspoken sort of request. They must not be overhunted, but protected if we are to live off their numbers. She trusted the brooding shadow of the blackpine to keep them safe, for he seemed to be at the head of Kukutux's hunting party. The moondrop would not have trusted him without good reason.

"I think maybe they should be let alone until after they have resettled in the territory. There are two of note that could make candidates for a hunt at that time," she added, not entirely sure if he would pay any regard to the advice of a woman. Especially one young and small. "They seem to have injured themselves on the shards of rock left by the storm." 

At last her measured words, practiced nervously on her way up the mountain, die off and the yearling -- who would soon be a two-year -- blinked, splayed auds flickering as if she waited either for some response or further orders.