Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

coväh is still for a moment, watching the shift in her, the way her laughter trembles on the edge of something else—something heavier. he remembers her like this, full of light, full of motion, always just a step ahead, just out of reach.
but then she slows. and then, she sees him.
his tail wags, slow, easy, before his limbs move without thought. he closes the distance, reaching to press his muzzle against her shoulder, inhaling deeply, breathing her in. ayovi. she smells of wind and memory, of something he had once lost and never thought to find again.
dove of the creek, he hums, voice low, warm. you—! but he does not finish. they are here now. they do not have to think of the past.
he pulls back, just enough to look at her, eyes bright with a boyish mischief that does not fully mask the emotion beneath. the herds move. i follow! he announces, as if it were that simple. as if he had not wandered too far, lost too much. he wags his tail again, then drops into a playful bow, ears flicking forward. run with me.
the past is heavy. the future uncertain. but right now—right now—he is here, and so is she!