Heron Lake Plateau you should see me in a crown

mictec remained where she stood, poised yet at ease, watching the fresh spill of crimson seep into the snow. the scent of death was thick, but it was clean—necessary. efficient. her own muzzle bore only the faintest trace of blood, a testament to her measured approach.  

her gaze flicked up to meet his as he spoke, weighing his words, his stance, his intent. no arrogance, no unnecessary pride—only recognition. that, at least, was something she could respect.  

you listen well, she remarked, voice smooth as she stepped forward, the kill now fully in her shadow. you watch well. that will serve you.

she did not offer her name immediately, not yet. Instead, her gaze flicked once more to the elk. you were right to choose this one. a wound left unattended. time would have done the same, but time is slow, and hunger does not wait.

a pause, then the faintest tilt of her head. mictec, she finally offered, as if deciding only now that he was worth the name. and you are not trespassing. if you were, you would know.

a subtle test, a lingering question in the air—what will you do now, now that you have taken what you needed?