Lion Head Mesa Scraping for pearls on the roadside

@Serein, hopefully:)

margarida moved through the dim morning with purpose, her paws whispering over the stone paths of the mesa. serein’s scent—light, nervous, frayed at the edges—threaded faintly through the cool air. the little coywolf was due soon. kemal had asked this of her. and magui, ever dutiful when it suited her, would not fail in it.

across her back she carried a small pelt—soft, colorful, chosen intentionally for its gentleness rather than its worth. a comfort-gift, nothing more. and tucked between her teeth was a bundle of herbs… the common kind. safe enough to offer without dipping into her precious stores.

she spotted the den ahead, a pale shape curled at its mouth.

margarida paused, smoothing her posture, softening her expression; warmth was a currency, too, and she knew how to spend it.

serein? she called gently, stepping closer. it’s magui. i brought something for you.

the pelt slid from her back as she approached, its colors pooling at the young woman’s paws like a small, hopeful offering.