Kildeer Rest trappings of starlight

recklessness is a man's plaything, crude and childish. she will not be goaded into this pathetic measure of worth by him, nor the woman who owns him. still, the meadow is plentiful. she would be a fool herself not to consider every option. for the time being she will relent- she does not have the mass of bodies these two appear to possess via scent alone.

but she will, in time. and they will all yield to her. within the womb, her daughters grow strong. they will take this place with her, carve their claim into the land itself.

she lowers her head, although not in submission. in the heavy calm of a storm that has not yet broken. sharp eyes do not leave them. he postures, the fool, and his mate hovers like smoke, insidious and watching. qupirruarjuit drinks in their scent, committing it to memory.

then, deliberately, she turns from them. each step she takes weighs heavy with intent, paws pressing firm into the soil as if all the earth below is hers. let them think they have won. let them dance in circles around what they believe to be theirs.

behind her ribs burns a steady fire. within her blooms life-- small and hungry. her future, hardy and furious and sure. these lands feed strangers now, but one day they will sing with the howls of her bloodline, unyielding and vast.

the stranger's scent stirs, warm and heady, and pieces begin to fall into place. their union is one brought upon by nature, much like her own. perhaps in the future their daughters will meet and share warmth. prosperity. the thought does not disturb her.

"you carry soon." brusque and deep and accented, tone still a touch from friendly. they are strangers, still, but the dawn of new life is cause for joy. she gestures to her own belly, understanding in her eyes, and then turns to leave. they will not fight today.