Nova Peak ❇ Tēnsha

AW!

the river whispered over smoothed stones, cold and clear as the sky above. silatuyok stood knee-deep in the melt-fed stream, a pale figure amidst the mist and low light. her breath rose in clouds. dawn had only just begun to press lavender against the horizon.
between her paws floated the limp body of an arctic fox, its silver-white fur stained faintly with blood. she had hunted it before sunrise, lured by the promise of a fine winter hide. not for vanity—she did not indulge in such things—but for use. for warmth. for trade. for gifting, perhaps, should the winds demand generosity.
now she worked with quiet purpose, turning the pelt gently in the river’s current. she had stripped it with care, minding the delicate edges. beside her on a sun-warmed stone bloomed a scatter of dried chamomile flowers, gathered the day before. her nose dipped, brushing them into the stream, and she watched them float—bright suns on dark water.
tuyul, she murmured to the river. peaceful. a word in her tongue, meant to show reverence. the water answered with a soft gurgle between her toes.
behind her, nova peak loomed like a sentinel. and somewhere within its ridges were the wolves she now called kin: winsook. ayovi. the mountain-people!
she did not know how long she would stay, but for now, her hands were full. her belly fed. and the spirits were quiet.
silatuyok pressed the fox pelt into the stream again, watching the blood leach away in faint red spirals.