Nova Peak ζ

Ayovi did not want their voices near their home, nor her and Skorpa's names in their mouths. She wanted them gone. They had all come so suddenly and she cannot say why. Some revolution of the spirits, or scents upon the air, wafting.
In Wide Fang bands, there was always a leader. He was not always the largest and he need not be, for he was the one they looked to for instruction in their cruelty.
“Folkmoot,” the huntress repeats. “Ja. Yes.” She glances at Skorpa, warming her expression.
This face, once of practiced contentment, Ayovi would learn.