Dawnlark Plains Nɨ paa nɨ’a

silatuyok dipped her head, humbled by the offering—by the warmth of it, by the certainty in ayovi’s voice. no one had spoken to her like that in many moons.
thank you, she murmured, voice soft with reverence. the gentle arc of her shoulders as she bowed. i will go.
she followed the line of ayovi’s gaze, to the mountain crowned in clouds. winsook. the name felt good on her tongue when she repeated it silently, committing it to memory like a prayer. a place to listen for the spirits—yes. that was a thing she had always longed for, even when she had no words to name it.
you stay strong, she added, stepping forward with a flick of her pale tail. her nose brushed lightly along ayovi’s cheek, an instinctual sign of respect and kinship. when the fighting ends, i help build sanctum.
and with that, she turned toward the mountain—her steps light despite the burden she carried. the fox pelt, washed and wrapped in damp herbs, was tucked beneath her shoulder. behind her, the river sang. ahead, the spirits waited.
she did not look back. she did not need to.