Herbalists' Cache raining fire

suliya listens. the man speaks, but his words are as hollow as the bones of carrion-picked prey. he stands with the arrogance of one who believes his voice alone should command movement.

her lips twitch.

man know nothing of what it takes to be woman. her voice is quiet, but firm, a blade’s edge wrapped in silk.

she does not look at him for long. he does not matter.

instead, she turns, red eyes shifting toward the snow shelter where sivaak’s rage hums through the air. she understands it, feels it curl around her ribs, anchoring her to the earth.

suliya does not need the man’s orders.

she will talk to sivaak.

go, she murmurs, flicking her tail, dismissing him as one might an irritating fly. she will speak to the woman, and if a choice must be made, it will not be one handed down from a man’s mouth.