Dawnlark Plains Nɨ paa nɨ’a

the stranger’s voice carries on the wind—sharp like stone, edged with certainty. silatuyok, crouched low beside the hollow-boned carcass, lifts her head slowly. her ears twitch, registering tone more than meaning. the words... they slide off her like water.
her tongue presses to the roof of her mouth. she does not run. instead, she retreats a step from the kill, belly skimming the earth. not in fear—no—but in respect. tail drawn low, submissive, silatuyok’s amber eyes study the pale-furred woman, flicking briefly toward the swell of her belly. something clicks.
she is with life!
the hairs beneath her own ribs have thinned too. the change has come quietly, subtly, like thaw beneath snow.
tɨ... naavi’nü tüva, she murmurs softly, her voice like wind through dry grass. i—no understand.
she points gently to her chest with her nose, then offers a low whuff and another bow of her head. the kill is not worth a fight—not here. the wind carries something heavy, she can feel it too. war. death.
she does not want to be a part of it.