Shadewood dusk speaks

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she moved nuzzled beneath his nape, seeking the familiar comfort of his scent, and the quiet understanding that passed between them. submission wasn’t something forced upon her, but a mutual acknowledgment of where she stood—chieftain, and still bound in ways that defied words.
she sighed as she watched the caribou grazing at the edge of their territory. there was an ancient hunger in the way the herd moved, a rhythm that spoke to the very earth beneath their feet. and yet, despite the pull of that natural cycle, the ache of loss gnawed at her.
you were right, she said quietly, the words carrying a weight that wasn’t just about the caribou or the hunt. her gaze flicked to him, watching his reaction as she spoke of the children—his, lost to his foreign wife. lanzadoii should only breed lanzadoii. the truth of it tasted bitter, a reminder of what had been stolen, and of how she turned him away. and now, upon the mess of the pyre, he stood with only one son beneath his wing.