Silver Moraine toshin

suliya's gaze flickers, sharp and assessing, though something like amusement lingers at the edge of her features. father would have killed me, she murmurs, the weight of truth heavy in her voice. and it is not a lie—had he known where she crept, what she learned, he would have ensured she never walked again.

but she had walked, and she had learned. she had carried the scent of the glacier on her pelt in secret, let the language of another people settle on her tongue. forbidden or not, it had shaped her.

needed a break, she says simply, rolling a shoulder as if it is as casual as stretching stiff limbs. her tone is light, but her eyes are not. she does not like being pinned beneath another’s scrutiny. caribou don’t move till dusk. no use in watching a thing that won’t run yet.

her tail flicks, her attention shifting, as if already dismissing the topic of fathers and black scars. why you not with muradoii women? she counters, arching a brow. or did you get bored too?