Nova Peak β

The woman’s arrant joy allures Ayovi’s feet, enthusiasm vibrant in her own soft titterings, in gentle nudges. She is alone on this sheer peak, the huntress scents her isolation. But for one moment let them drink the blue, grand air together, and let Ayovi embrace the ivory’s shoulders as she might a sister of Red Creek. There is kindness in her gaze.
And she feels him there, at her back. He has not left. What strangeness with the realization is paired relief— that the northman had become a sort of comfort in these wilds. Shifting from white marble withers, her eyes intensify in the silent distance of his sanctity. He is downed again, and for a reason. Forceful winds blur the edge of red-coat as Ayovi steps tentatively towards him, then glances back to snowwoman in an introductory manner. Yet she does not invite her near, vexation in the man’s face rebuffing the huntress’ own advances.
“I’m Ayovi. He is Skorpa,” tender eyes smile for snowwoman before combing the northman with worry.