Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

This. It is this she misses. Coväh coaxing play from her. To be a child again. They both carried the sharp knowledge of life’s fragility— so why should they spend their’s tangled in politics? In regrets and shame and things that didn’t matter?
The ivory tears and chases; bites and yelps. They make chaotic, aerial designs in the snow and bat at each other between trees that drop their frigid yields. Ayovi dashes and lunges and tramples and waves her tail so high and insistent that all in the world can feel its beat. And if she had a thousand golden days just like this, it wouldn’t be enough. She slows again.
“I've missed you,” comes the quiet confession. Spirits, she wants to cry again. Because if the Wide Fang had taken any emotion away, it is her resistance to affection. When she cares for someone, she needs them to know. Anything— everything else felt like a waste.
“You! You are so… so handsome!”  The thought strikes her with such surprise. Where is the gangly boy she  used to know? He must be drowning in women! “Finally grew into your nose, thank the spirits!”