Larksong Grotto sleeping dog beside you

the feeling only deepened within rala's gut as the moments stretched, long and sharp with tension. tree-lingering stranger did not move for a second, two, more. but then she came forwards, and words begun to roll from her tongue, broken. i do not run.

and she noticed the embers of curiosity behind otherwise scarlet eyes, glimmering like thin blood beneath the sun, upon the broken crags of black sands. tales of claws decorated her skin. rala thought they were beautiful - the scars. dark against the moon-white of her pelt. not only her face ; stories, dark and pointed, ran across her body.

the tellings of a huntress. of nunaq. she reminded rala of her sisters. admirable in that way. pale like her, like them. like ataata, angajuqqaaq. the sinupiult people.

fear means prey, she spoke, then. her words were collected, accented with a northern tongue. tail moved on its own accord, flicking back and forth as she studied the stranger. no, not stranger ; she appeared to refer to herself in third person. sivaak, she said. and so polar-cub would return with a title of her own: i am nanuralaaq. cub of polar bear.

then, with squinted eyes, she said: i am not your prey - you know this, for if she was, the woman would have ran by now, long gone. instead, she stood her place, firm in her presence within the grotto, within these lands. she would not go tested, and she believed that sivaak knew such a thing to be true. i will not fear you, sivaak.

rala moved slightly forwards, then, eyes flickering to the long marks upon her muzzle. you are arnaq kappiasuktuq, a smile upon her face. my people would say, 'she is beautiful'. as they were a testament to strength - and strength was the only way to survive the harsh winters of muskox grounds. she gave a nod that carried respect.