The Wall Toome

She whirls on him, casting an arm high with the intention of adding a second scar to that face if her rake is not thwarted. There are a thousand ways she could reproach his insults, but some old spark of the huntress she had been in Big Sky flares within her, trying to relight.
“And you’ve the brain of one, lone wolf,” the angry words prick in mouth. It is her opinion of any who chooses isolation over cogency of the pack. Faust would hunt muskrats and rabbits, a sickly doe if he was particularly lucky. He did not know how to signal hunters, or what conditions were needed for the great course. He did not know the taste and pleasure of the kootsinpooäh.
Ayovi bares her fangs and leaps agilely away, blending with the pristine drifts of snow, tail high in defiance.