Sunset Valley Tspēsh

The mother eyes her retreat; a sort of quicksilver sashay that commands the wood far after she’s vanished. Ayovi’s blue gaze gleams in worry as she moves a paw to support that rounded swell upon her slender frame, drawing all light between she and her unborn cubs.
Aspa was no shaman. The spirits would not ask a mother for such a sacrifice! They were beings for good and benevolence, who desired great prosperity for their acolytes!
The huntress’ lip curls upon the empty path. Let the crone wait. Let her gather wares and devise her spells.
Ayovi would not come.