Qeya River jedan

it is wren who emerges from the wood. her girls had been climbing atop her shoulders and back while her boys had been playing tug-of-war with her tail just a moment ago; the scents of her young and her wife cling to her pelt, and she wears it as if it were a badge of honor.
the shadows melt away from her figure as she moves toward the stranger, suspicion and caution woven into her expression. the girl who had made the call was notably tall, painted in cool, shimmering silver and smoky mauve. the prima is unsure what to make of her.
this is qeya river, she tells her, one tattered ear twitching atop her head. can we help you?