Ouroboros Spine ukijijuk ⏧

"Aya," the word fell from her lips naturally as she responded, evergreen orbs going wide as the soft sound died -- a hint of apology in the surprised peridots as they sought Kukutux's. She must've picked the word up from the moonwife but she hoped it wouldn't offend the Alpha to hear the cloudberry accidentally slipping into the matchmaker's mother tongue. "I mean, yes. But they are spoken rather than sung," she explained, her tones soft as the clover creeping along the forest floor.

"Many poems are about nature. Many more are about love," she smiled, gaze flitting to the process that Kukutux used to treat the fur -- committing it to memory so she might try it sometime. It would take longer and her jaw would surely be sore but it seemed worth it, her furs would be softer if she could remove more of the stiff rawhide. 

"My favorite ones are those that are sad...or the ones that speak to some piece of the soul," she tried to explain it but couldn't be quite sure she was successful. Those compositions that whispered to some poignantly lonely and aching corner of her heart -- the place where emotions resided mayhaps.