Luneshale Pass chá

backdated to october 17th; AW!

the dawn came pale over verapaz, mist curling between the stones as margarida worked. herbs gathered in her jaws, pelts spread to dry—she moved like she had always belonged there. kemal’s words still echoed in her mind: prepare them. the mesa waits.

so she did. caches packed tight, roots and bark bundled with care, each tied the way her mãe had shown her—precise, patient, prayerful. protege-os, doce terra, she murmured under her breath.

by dusk, her paws were sore, her fur dusted with soil, but her heart was light. she looked toward the glowing beyond, the land that would soon be theirs, and whispered to it softly—

soon.