Dawnlark Plains ⋆ Wāpēkwa

siamiituuq’s ribs flex with her breath, shallow and tight.
she does not move at first. just watches—yellow eyes half-lidded, low to the ground, belly soaking in the snow. her lips twitch once, not with threat but with the instinct to guard what isn’t hers. not yet. the hunger claws at her, gnaws her lean sides, but she waits. lets him see she won’t fight him for it. not if she doesn’t have to.
a small chuff leaves her throat, soft and airy, her muzzle tilting to the side in quiet deference.
then she rises—slow, creeping forward with her spine low and tail twitching at the tip. cautious. respectful. a crooked step. a pause. she slinks closer, stopping just out of reach, her ears swept back like river reeds in wind.
no words. only breath and hunger between them.
she gestures—not with speech, but a slight angle of her body, a tiny flick of her shoulder. a question.
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