Nova Peak Núuruachiu

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the morning air was crisp, tinged with frost that clung to the earth like a breath held too long. the rising sun poured soft gold across the camp.
her paws moved in rhythm, practiced and precise—laying strips of elk meat over a low-drying frame of stripped branches, salted and pulled tight. her tongue clicked softly as she hummed an old lullaby beneath her breath. a mother’s song. a moon song. one her grandmother had carried on long nights in the basin.
above her, crows murmured in the trees. the wind curled through the mountain’s ribs, brushing along her pale back. and beneath her skin, a knowing stirred.
something warm. low. ancient.
she paused.
eyes downcast, she pressed the flat of her paw against her belly, feeling the thrum of blood, the slow climb of heat like the waxing of the moon. it was not here—not yet. but soon. she could feel it in the pit of her body, in the way her fur felt too tight, her senses too sharp.
it is time, the spirits whispered.
silatuyok said nothing in return. only hummed, and kept working.