Shadewood moss runner

— daa'ka knows the rhythm of his brother’s body as surely as he knows the beat of his own heart. he watches with crimson glinting eyes, one sclera blood red from trauma to his face long ago.

eyes that narrow with suspicion on black-furred brother. you want me wed so soon. he tells to him, though it had been daa'ka himself who vowed to take a wife. who vowed to have children soon.

the sun clan would be replenished. with those of their blood, not outsiders as it had been. that was no fault of his brother. trust was blind to be placed in strangers, faith. but ice raven willed it would not be again. daa'ka listened, daa'ka heard.

he flicks eyes to kusax̱asaa with a rare steadiness—clear of the month's earlier wrath, filled with something else. she agrees. talvani. she say yes. we go soon. but i speak to you first.

inhaling stiffly. looking to the sea. the currents that slosh loudly. ice raven sees. he lays the feather. not by chance. not by trick. but by will. he places one paw to his chest. then, teeth plucking the red feather from his fur it was tangled in, and moves to thread it there upon his brother's.

a sign, brother. for us. for the line. for c’ede’. for the pups that will come. he sees us still—he chooses us still.