Herbalists' Cache raining fire

suliya does not flinch as sivaak’s teeth snap close to her own, a reprimand sharp as steel. she only holds the older woman’s glare, jaw tight, fire burning beneath her skin. yes. she had forgotten—forgotten her place, forgotten the weight of her own voice. but she does not regret it. she would do it again if it meant keeping what remained of muradoii from vanishing into nothing.

when sivaak turns, when she grits her teeth and yields—not in spirit, not in will, but in action—suliya exhales a slow, steady breath. victory is not sweet. it is not something to relish. it is something to carry, like the cubs now warm against her chest.

without a word, she follows, matching sivaak’s steps with her own, red eyes cutting ahead, sharp as a blade. there is no time for celebration. only movement. only purpose.

the last muradoii would live. and they would remember.