Chimera Fields crawl

there is something confrontational about zharille when those of her kind look upon her. it is basic instinct which drives this, and when racharra finally drops her gaze there is a sense of relaxation that draws through zharille. she stands as proud as usual, prouder even; watching as the girl relents and seeks approval. this is what zharille waits for, or enforces upon others the most often. she is the master of her domain even without a claim to speak of. the subtle ways in which racharra seeks to appease her mother are enough to abate any hostility.

a happy rumble erupts from her chest. zharille probes the girl for scents, wanting to know more; there is the scent of the sand people most strongly, but other things too. she is a wanderer! did she seek what all women sought in the spring? zharille thought about this for a moment—but it wasn't as if she could determine how old racharra was.

enough, then, that racharra looked to be an adult. as interested as zharille was in the girl's well-being there was no shaking the sense that she was also now a rival, perhaps roaming in search of a man for the season the way her mother did. the rumble eased to silence, and zharille held a questioning, hawkish glare upon her face.