Larksong Grotto sleeping dog beside you

noted...........

The snowwoman’s words, foreign and layered with meaning Sivaak could not grasp in detail, still carried weight in their tone and cadence. Admiration was not something Sivaak sought, but it was clear in the way Rala spoke—her conviction, her boldness—that this was no empty flattery. The Muradoii hunter tilted her head slightly, listening, gauging. Sivaak’s ears twitched. The sentiment was clear enough. Strength. Recognition. Acknowledgment. It was an odd thing to hear from a wolf who lived so far from the harsh laws of the black sea, but Sivaak didn’t dismiss it. Not entirely.

When the words concluded with a name—aungmik angunasukti—Sivaak’s lips curled faintly, though whether it was a smirk or something more restrained was unclear. Her scarred shoulders rolled as she straightened, looming larger in the dim light. “Your words,” Sivaak rumbled like a distant storm, “are strange to me. But you speak with purpose. That, I hear. That, I know.”

Her gaze lingered on Nanuralaaq for a moment longer, studying the conviction etched into her expression, the way she stood without wavering, without bending. Few wolves had the gall to meet Sivaak’s gaze so directly, and fewer still had done so with something other than fear. It stirred something faint within her—respect, though she would never admit it outright. And perhaps something else. Something... unknown.

She stepped forward when Rala stepped away, closing the distance again and then some, her movements heavy with something wantant, until she stood practically chest to chest with the smaller woman. Or, chest to face. Her crimson eyes burned as they bore into Rala’s dawn-like gaze. The faintest curl tugged at her lips again before she turned her head, gesturing with a rough jerk of her muzzle toward the water. Acceptance. “Come then. We drink." Sivaak stepped to the pool’s edge, the faint ripple of the water reflecting her scarred, pale visage as she lowered her muzzle. Her tongue darted out, lapping the cool liquid in measured gulps, her crimson eyes flicking upward occasionally to keep Nanuralaaq within her periphery. Even at rest, Sivaak was never unguarded. The water was cold, biting against her throat as it went down. It reminded her of the black sea, the freezing currents that defined her homeland. When she drank her fill, Sivaak raised her head, droplets clinging to the fur of her muzzle. Her tail flicked once, lazily, as she let her eyes roam to the plush white-coated woman to her flank.

Crimson, beady eyes of malice seem to unthaw looking upon her. “Sivaak would bring you with when she leaves,” she said, her crimson eyes narrowing slightly as they held Nanuralaaq’s. “Journey to find more like Sivaak. Meet other caribou hunters. Lanzadoii, other Muradoii. You learn their ways. Our ways. Rala teach Sivaak hers. To hunt at polar cub’s side. It would honor Sivaak.” And as she spoke, Sivaak was not nervous. She was confident.