Qeya River fables

star eater listened, patient and still, as other shore's curiosity spilled forth in gentle inquiry. there was no irritation, only a quiet understanding—she had once been young, asking the same of others.
her gaze softened, though it carried the weight of memory.
no, she said simply. i was not born to saatsine.
a pause, her eyes drifting to the horizon where snow met sky, as though looking beyond it to another life.
when i was a girl, i did not move. not as you know it. i visited places—on my father’s orders, on my mother’s arm—but we always returned. we belonged to one place. it held us like a cage.
the faintest trace of bitterness touched her tone before she reined it in.
i left because i had to, she said finally, voice quieter. because to stay would have been my death.
her ears twitched, and she looked back to other shore, offering a thin, almost wry smile—something fragile beneath it.
the march is hard, yes. but i chose this life. i chose to chase the caribou, to chase freedom.
a breath, visible in the cold air.
it is better to run than to rot.