Porcupine Ridge ishkitu-niqaru

The sun dips lower, shadows lengthening as Khalid watches. The rock beneath his feet is loose, and he navigates it with deliberate, measured steps. The breath of the wind carries the scent of the earth, cool and tinged with pine. He knows the scent of prey is close; he can almost feel the tension in the air. A flicker of movement catches his eye again, this time as a shape moves close.

A sleek, dark wolf stands as a shadow against the rocky landscape. That glimmer of dying sunlight makes the stranger's tall ears look more like horns. The wolf's eyes lock on to Khalid — bright, alert, and unyielding. Its stance is tense, its posture communicating caution and defiance. Khalid plants his feet more firmly in the dirt.

Moments pass. The stranger speaks. Khalid can understand the protective posturing a lot better than what has been spoken. He slowly stands to his full height while his tail remains low, and steps back to give the stranger space. Signs of deference and caution play out across Khalid's body as he moves, not wanting a fight to result from this.

Khalid clears his throat and speaks, presuming this stranger will not understand — so he is careful with his pronunciation and deliberate with his word choice, as if speaking to a child: Serla nu’fel? Tahar mekar fa’he?