Wapun Meadow Across Dimming Asterisms

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A turn of her head, slow as a dune shifting beneath moonlight. Her paws pressed the meadow’s soil like silk falling over glass, delicate, but never uncertain. Each step seemed measured not by urgency but intent, her form swaying in fluid lines, effortless as drifting smoke. There was no hurry in her presence, only the stillness of someone used to watching others reveal themselves first.
Golden eyes found him; towering, wounded, trailing ghosts. He was a monument cracked by time, and she studied him as one might study a ruin: with distant curiosity, and the faintest trace of suspicion. „You walk as a ghost wearing flesh,” she spoke at last, her voice a soft murmur, scented with foreign vowels: „Heavy. Angry. Loud.”
She circled slightly, not in fear, but in quiet challenge. Her tail, plumed and elegant, arched behind her like a desert banner caught in the gentlest wind. „Tell me…” The maiden paused near a bloom of white wildflowers, soft petals brushing her ankles as she tilted her head, the movement subtle and precise. „Did the earth chew you up and spit you out just to stumble in wildflowers? Or is there purpose to the blood you’ve left behind?”
Then her gaze flicked, swift and brief, toward the edge of her vision; a pale figure, white as morning bone, lingering beneath the boughs near the creek. Blue eyes like shattered ice, too clear to ignore. A she-wolf, watching. Shiruyeh did not address her, not yet, but the presence was marked, catalogued, stored.
Her attention returned to the giant before her, unbothered, the slightest narrowing of her eyes betraying her continued curiosity. She stepped closer now, not enough to threaten; but enough to dare. The edge of her shoulder brushed the sun’s light as if it belonged to her.