Dawnlark Plains Nɨ paa nɨ’a

Ayovi crouches to pick absently, eyes and mind rapt still upon the woman. Silatuyok. The world seems to fly apart and rejoin again in a form she better recognizes.
“I’ve missed hearing it,” her voice is kept conversational, but there is a deep nostalgia there, beneath the forced bright tones.
“There are few of us here in the North,” the huntress explains— but perhaps even fewer in the South. “My husband is Northern. But he is a good man. There are a few others upon mount, all travelers. None like... us. But it is a safe place. A fortuitous one, where spirits are loud.” If such shamanist practices appealed to Silatuyok then Ayovi would seek her partnership.