Emberwood ﹌ Txumtsyìp

ah, he murmured, ears flicking with faint approval. we give back to the ocean.
his gaze followed hers to the burial cache, the place where the earth had been touched with reverence, not waste. something in him stirred—recognition, maybe. not of the act, but the meaning behind it.
eywa sees, he added, softer. whether sea or soil.
he stepped closer, but not too close, mindful of her space—of her tension, always present, just beneath the skin. like a bowstring drawn but never loosed.
his eyes lifted with hers to the trees. the light filtered through like it did on reef floors, dappling their coats in fragments of sun and shadow.
this land is not ours. not yet. we do not know what listens. or what hungers.
his tail flicked once behind him, slow and thoughtful.
we’ll find it, he said, almost a vow. our place.