Lion Head Mesa down on your knees, you just don't look so tall

She did not know how to convey exactly what had transpired, or all that she felt. Such things were beyond her. All she could do was approach the man with careful, precise steps; looming over him a moment while the nearby mazoi grew tense. She then turned and showed her sagging belly, the last vestiges of her pregnancy.

Whether he understood or not, Zharille moved her head one way, then the other, so that he could gather what scents might remain upon her coat — the child of Greatwater was all that lingered, now. That, and the scent of the woods.

She rumbled, Mine. Khaba — take.

The display over, she gave the man his space but did not sit, and seemed to pace on the spot, eager to return.

Zharille, she motioned to herself with the lift of her head, proud, powerful; Zharille take back.