Silver Moraine [m] I a[m] the edge of the blade,

Tikigâk was not sentimental enough to feel hope, nor the sort to daydream pithy thoughts in contemplation of whom might respond. The beast of a woman was much more present than that as she marched proudly ahead, plume flagrantly swaying in an instinctive maneuver to spread her scent. Her hard gaze swept across the land, and her ears pricked as she scented him before she saw him. 

Who would think to fight him then, for her? Who could hope to succeed? There before her stood a choice—her choice. 

He had heard her call, and he presented himself in answer. Tikigâk rumbled a note of satisfaction to see him, dull gaze then bright  when beholding him as he approached. The tectonic plates of the world drove two mountains together, where longitude and latitude would meet—the earth would buckle, would bend into itself, but not destroy—build. Create. Become more. 

A crooning note, now—a sound of which she had never made. The beginnings of a new conversation. A low growl that would prompt a new hunt for him. Tikigâk did not yet move within reach; if none would fight for her, she would test again his physicality in this carnal pursuit of theirs. He would hunt again—for her!