Kildeer Rest trappings of starlight

faust stands like the northern stone he was born from—unmoving, unmoved, yet deeply aware. his body shifts just enough to brush against tikigâk, shoulder to shoulder, muscle to taut muscle, a reassurance of unity in the face of the unknown. her feral weight beside him, the pressure of her vigilance, it grounds him. his eyes do not leave the pale stranger, even as he draws in the scent she’s steeped in—blood, bone, mountain. formidable. alone.
his gaze narrows. not hostile, but assessing. respectful in the way of seasoned hunters who know not to provoke unless necessary. the woman shows no challenge, only acknowledgment, and for that he offers the same—a grunt, low and quiet in his throat.
she had killed. that much was clear. but he was a plains hunter, through and through—this was small fare. game enough for the cold-bellied, not for a pack in its prime. his nostrils flared slightly, catching the sharp tang of cougar beneath all else. it was still near. good to know.
he turns his head, brushing his muzzle along tikigâk’s jaw, low and quick. a motion of shared thought—not this. not now. they could do more. together.
and then, without shame, the kaan lifts his tail and marks the earth where they stand. a clear line drawn. this is theirs now. not a challenge, but a declaration. darukaal. he does not look to see if the woman watches—he assumes she does.
then, finally, a rumble in his chest. something bigger, he says to tikigâk, deep and sure. you will grow big. his eyes are already turning to the horizon. let the mountain woman keep her kill.

not an exit yet!