Dawnlark Plains Nɨ paa nɨ’a

Beautiful is her voice. Dithering in delivery, but pealing and keen in all familiar places.
Ayovi stands once more in silence, her tail dropping in line with hips, ears splaying aside before hooking forward again. Stance gentled, and head low, the huntress’s lips part.
“It is not safe, there is much danger here,” Ayovi speaks once more, this time in ute. Clear and questioning, with more than a modicum of hope glazing the deep blue of her eyes.