Herbalists' Cache raining fire

suliya plants her paws firm in the snow, muscles coiled with unyielding defiance. she does not flinch as sivaak moves, does not step aside as the veteran makes her intention clear.

no! the word cracks from her throat, sharp as a whip, fierce as the storm winds that once howled through muradoii land. she blocks the path, head lifted, chest rising with the weight of her conviction.

you are muradoii. her voice does not waver, it burns. last of them!

her eyes blaze, searching sivaak’s own, daring her to see what she sees.

who will teach cubs? her breath clouds between them, but she does not falter. who teach me?

her jaw clenches. if you die, if you are lost, then what is left? only bones. only dust. muradoii will be nothing but a whisper on the wind, a name to be forgotten in the mouths of men who do not deserve it.

suliya takes a step forward now, pressing close, voice low, urgent. stay. live. teach.

she does not plead. she demands.