Redtail Rise [m] Sīkärr

What she thinks in return, she does not know. A question floats up into her mouth. It was not so strange a way for Skorpa to put it. Certainly not everyone was close with their family. Wolves were meant to disperse; to go their own ways and break off familial ties.
But it was the way Skorpa sighed, like he was keeping something from her. A secret that had been planted not as a stone in her heart; but a seed.
The air burns still with the aftermath of their council. The north is drenched in emotion and tension. And where Ayovi might have coaxed an answer from him, the huntress settles, leaving it for another day. For she had begun to shift herself against Skorpa in earnest, each movement peeling away the strain of the meeting. The only sound then is her paws and muffled, tightening breaths. Tendons in his neck are traced with teeth.
“Ærlig mand. Stærk mand. Ledende mand. Du laver mig glad i dag. Du gør mig… vække.” A flush spreads over her skin; a little coy embarrassment.
Ayovi leaps away then, tugging the caribou back onto her shoulders, her soft hums dreaming of the sea.