King Elk Forest the reek of gods and men

the slap rocked through her narrow frame, pushing a grunt of air from her chest, but she did not shy away. she steadied herself over her herbs, thin paws braced, breath rising in white threads. at the sound of his recognition — one of his own — something in her posture shifted. a small, trembling lift of the head. a spark acknowledging its fire.

she crept nearer on her belly, closing the space between them in slow, scraping inches. when she stopped, she touched her chest with one paw — me— then pressed that same paw into the snow before him. a name given without voice.

blackfen.

her throat worked once, a broken rasp caught between a swallow and a gasp, and she forced the word out. her word.

m… matsi.

matsi of blackfen.