Qeya River teach

suliya watched him, expression unreadable, though something in the way she carried herself—sharp and steady—made it clear she had already begun evaluating him. weighing his worth, his instincts, his discipline.

she did not follow immediately when he moved, nor did she call him back. instead, she let him make his choice, watching as he tested the air, as he distanced himself from her. a brow lifted as he turned back to her, waiting.

you think you lead? she asked, voice quiet but edged with something wry. you do not know what you track yet.

her steps were measured as she finally advanced, closing the space between them but not too close. he had the right instincts, but instincts were not enough. she would teach him the rest.

she nodded toward the distant herd, their bodies dark against the pale stretch of tundra. caribou do not move alone. they smell you long before you smell them. they know where wind moves before it moves.

her gaze met his, steady, challenging. we work together, or we do not work at all. you understand?