Dawnlark Plains please don't dress in black when you're at his wake

silatuyok moved like mist through the snow woods—silent, glancing back now and then to be sure the wild-eyed woman still followed. she did. wary as a deer, but she came.
they passed through trees thinned by wind, limbs creaking like old spirits. ahead, the snow thinned near a fallen log half-sunk into earth. silatuyok slowed, then lowered her muzzle, sniffing through brittle stems poking from frost.
ey, she murmured, voice low, muffled by breath.
her teeth carefully tugged free a patch of flat, wide leaves, dull green edged in frost. the scent was sharp, bitter. familiar.
tuŋtuk—good for..., she said, pointing to her stomach. you chew. eh...not quick. she dropped it at the woman’s feet, backing a pace to give her space.
her head tilted. then, almost like a whisper:
you carry life?
she did not ask with judgment—only wonder. her eyes were soft. searching. as if she, too, remembered the early days of not knowing.