Luneshale Pass On sunny days

her thin frame folded low as he unearthed the cache, the sharp scent of earth and blood mingling as the meat was drawn up. dark eyes softened, lashes low, and she dipped her head.

obrigada, senhor kemal, she murmured, voice soft, lilting, her tongue curling the word as only her people did. she nosed gently toward the lamb, the tenderness of it a balm to her starved belly.

a glance flicked upward, fleeting, a shimmer of gratitude plain upon her face. you are kind… too kind. i will not forget.

her plume-tail shifted slow behind her, a gesture of compliance, of quiet respect.