Kildeer Rest trappings of starlight

faust’s shoulder brushed hers as he stepped forward, looming over the remnants of the kill. his gaze followed the path the stranger had taken, still sharp, still wary, though his voice remained level.
there are no other cubs, he said plainly. not yet.
he lowered his head to the carcass, tearing through sinew with methodical efficiency. and there won’t be—unless i allow it.
his tone was not cruel, only resolute. in darukaal, chaos bred weakness, and weakness led to death. it was his duty to ensure only the strongest were born into this land. his word was the law, and no male would sow seed without his consent—not unless they sought to face him for it.
only the best should carry, he said between bites. only the strongest cubs will survive the cold.
his eye found her again—you, that look seemed to say, you earned it.
her suggestion was sound. his ear twitched as she mentioned the herds. we’ll push north next week, he decided aloud. leave markers. if that woman comes back, she’ll know we run this range. if she tries to feed here again without permission... we answer it.
his muzzle smeared with blood, he moved to press briefly against her flank. not softness—reaffirmation. she was his mate. this was her claim, too.
eat, he rumbled low. grow big.
then, after a beat, more quietly: our cubs will not be weak.