Dawnlark Plains η

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they did not trust one another, and this was well. this was good. skorpa had no terms to set, for it was ayovi who spoke next. using commontongue, she drew the eyes of the men in a way which made him examine each face for lust.

bearman of the lone mountain did not know half of what was uttered by his mate, but he put all stock and trust in it. there was loathing for him, distaste, and his mouth slowly creaked in a grin which showed the newly reddened teeth once more.

let them dislike. let his stench fill their nostrils. those who had scented skorpa in the night knew it was a malaise of death, and feared it accordingly.

but had he not set aside his axe?

he could not squat upon the mountain while faust decided he had been wronged. it was dangerous but decisive to move in the open, and he looked at his proud mate with great affection.

"ayovi's mand er enig." she would tell him later all she had said, skorpa knew. his eyes took in the soft whispers of the saatsine woman which he could not hear, the derisive stare of the darukaal wolves, but otherwise he did not speak again, standing for now as hard muscle in defense of regnvand.

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