Nova Peak [nd] Nįwa

Jamukha watches her whirl away from him into the dancers. The horselord takes his time in joining her, eyes riding the length of sculpted shoulders as she sways. Where they join into long legs. She is strong, like the mares of his steppe.

And the rider is eager to join them together, doing so in two broad strides. He does not know this dance but he learns quickly, adding the flair of his own biyelgee as he shifts to catch her.

“You move in the same way you speak,” the rider draws her against him, so she might feel the murmur of his words. “Soft. And beautiful. Tell me your name.”