Snowforest Taiga maugak ⋟

kanuux did not flinch from the brush of her mouth.

the touch landed like a scar laid over old ones— accepted, answered, though not softened. his breath pushed out slow, misting around her face as she stepped beside him.

her voice meant little in sound, but the shape of the question, the tilt of her head, the way she waited— he understood.

he straightened to his full height, frost cracking along the line of his lapels. then he set a heavy paw to his own chest, claws sinking into the dense fur there.

a name.
his name.

a low rumble began in his throat— not warning, not threat, but declaration. he struck his chest once more and let the sound form as close to speech as his tongue allowed:

kanuux muradoii.

the cold wind carried it, harsh and simple.

after, he lifted his chin toward her, eyes narrowed, searching.

then his paw shifted, touching her chest with the back of his knuckles— not intimate, not gentle, but unmistakably asking the same.

you.