Morningside Cuesta [m] trottinggale

the wife smiled, a quick and playful thing, as she nudged his shoulder with her own. i told. i am quick, she teased, her tone light and warm, though her eyes glinted with something sharper—pride, maybe, or the quiet joy of being trusted by him in this way.

her gaze dropped to the caribou, its stillness now a sharp contrast to the hunt’s chaos. she stepped closer, brushing her nose lightly against the thick, cooling fur. the heart, she murmured, looking up at him with a gentle insistence. may i have it? her lessons with suliya were paying off well.

there was something reverent in her request, her voice low as though speaking directly to the spirit of the animal itself. she looked back to the caribou, her breath curling in the crisp air. it is strong, like this one was. i will honor it.