Shadewood dusk speaks

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she thinks of winter's wake. the time they'd spent together, and how it became nothing. how she felt nothing. she had only felt alive within the wake of the caribou, and knew then that this menagerie of fantasies was a mere act of rebellion.
i will speak to him. daa'ka. she has not spoken to him in the shade of the wood quite yet, but if that is what kusax̱asaa seeks of her, then it is the will of the spirits. tired of fighting the powers looming over her head, she falls into the same stride that her mother had.
it is a soft sound that comes from her, then: muradoii. how hard she tried to impress sivaak. how she had been there for the birth of her cubs— it felt redundant now, thinking of how frequently she wished to be anything else except lanzadoii.
i have known the hoofbeats my whole life, she retorts back, though sensing his tone of a 'jest.' muradoii are mere whispers upon caribou ears.
she trotted ahead of him then, tail flagging him forward as she caught wind of scarlet iron wafting through the air. an injured bull, no less. just beyond the ridge. she looked towards the chieftain, prodding him with a wondering look. hunt.