Firefly Ravine There's a fire in my brain,

For Kekoa

For some time now herself and Nayavanti had been on the mainland. A chance to get away together, if nothing else. She had sent the keeper away to hunt today, and now rested beside a ravine in a safe spot that had been chosen for her.

Still she was curious of the land wolves, but she has been trained well; it was not her responsibility to save the non-believers. All she had to do was remain silent and communicate messages from their god. Her voice was a precious resource, non-renewable and yet necessary.

Ears twitch at the sound of crunching snow. It is some distance away, she assumes it to be Nayavanti, but a gust of wind reveals otherwise. A boy, a man, someone male, someone strange.

He came to search for the mushroom fed to him by the herbalist here. He had found none. Frustrated and fatigued, he had begun the long trek back to Saatsine's territory. Back to his lake.

Ahead sat something strange; a girl, petite and pretty, but strangely still in how she sat. Curious, he pushed forward.

Her head did not move, even when he should have been in her eyeline — though he kept a respectful distance. He thought she may be deaf until her ears twitched, pointing towards him.

What's wrong with you? The question was blunt and rather rude, but he was truly curious.

The question catches her off-guard, her head rearing back. She is surprised that she does not blurt out anything.

Huffing, she points her nose to him with the assistance of his scent before standing, and beginning to make her way down the side of the winding ravine - carefully. What a rude man!

She wonders how far Nayavanti is. If she returned before the stranger left, the keeper would surely teach this non-believer a lesson in manners.

For the entirety of her life Visala had lived only with family and those who revered her as a saint. Someone who was not a sibling and yet willing to insult her was surely a crime of some sort in the eyes of god.

She was strange, and rather disrespectful he thought. He felt his fur bristle, his face heating up with what he knew to be embarassment. Was she not the least bit interested in him?

Who are you to simply walk away? He furrowed a brow, planting his paws firmly to the ground. I'll have you know that I am the Ghost Talker of Saatsine. What gives you the right to deny a holy man an answer? Surely she would fear the consequences now. No wolf wanted to face the wrath of spirits.

He waited for an answer, a silence settling between the pair momentarily. A quiet anxiety settled in his chest.

A holy man? Now that was something she could smile at. She turns her head now, clear amusement coating her face.

This was not a man of god, his claim made no sense. But of course, she had been warned of these wolves; the kinds who would encourage followers who were rightfully hers to stray from their path of enlightenment, instead walking down a path that would surely lead them to damnation.

She steps back towards him, one foot in front of the other until her nose reaches the slightest hint of his fur. What is this Saatsine he speaks of? His home, she can assume.

She wants to follow him to it. There she will teach him the fault in his actions, humiliate him in front of his peers. It is the way god intended.