Ocean's Breath Plateau song of storms

She hummed a little note, quick in her throat.

We had no birthing grounds. It was like we were always running, if not from the weather than from the rockslides. A rueful chuckle left the young woman, as she turned to look at her husband.

I think I like yours better. It was an idle comment, as she went and began to chew the head of the bream from its body.

I was born in winter, right after the first moon. Her tail wagged, up and down.

It was hard, the mountain cruel, but we had each other. Until they no longer did.