Larksong Grotto Warflower

At once she feels Skorpa’s power come around them, and with that same glare he must reserve for rivals, he struck the stranger with a warning of consequence. Her eyes reach out to him in a steady gleam, rocking still, but sharing a quiet gratefulness until the last of his red blends into green.
The man has settled now, apparently more keen to engage with the huntress than her husband. With a muzzle bent still over the child her gaze is lifted to see him. He is young, younger than Skorpa, and clinging with desperation to the fading life of this child. Ayovi’s ears tip as he speaks.
“@Fa’liya,” she murmurs the name, “gods, I ask you, give Fa’liya a long life. May she live until her fur is frosted white; may she live till then.” Her voice sings gently in the language of her people, each word enunciated like they are the stones with which the girl-cub will build her future.
“I am Ayovi,” she tells him, understanding he is a companion of Star Eater and this is her daughter. “You will be safe here, but you must climb to the higher valley,” an indication is made briefly with the flex of pale ears towards the iced peak.
“A father will come to seek his cubs,” she lets out a breath. A chieftain would want more. He would want revenge. Anything less would be seen as weakness.