Herbalists' Cache prayer of the stars

star eater hums, a low, velvety sound, and leans in to press her muzzle into the thick ruff of black hawk’s neck. it is not often she shows affection so openly, but here, with this woman who has walked beside her and spoken such words of unwavering devotion, it feels natural. right.
you are kind, she murmurs, voice soft as snow falling through night. too kind.
the air around them is cold, but the warmth shared between hides and bodies—between women—makes it tolerable. her belly is heavy, tight and taut, but even so, she finds herself wanting to linger longer in this moment. wanting to keep black hawk here, where she can look upon her and feel safe.
she draws back only slightly, gaze lingering on the sharp lines of the other’s face, the crooked grin that doesn’t leave her thoughts even when the night falls.
we will hunt, star eater promises, quiet but sure. i will not be soft. not for long.
and there, beneath the weight of her own growing legacy, she thinks there might just be space for this, too—for the promise of more than survival, more than loyalty. something like belonging. something like pride.
her tail shifts, brushing against black hawk’s in passing as she moves forward, leading them into the snowfall. stay close. i would have you near.