Lion Head Mesa lokma, manda

Pack howl! Feel free to participate as much or as little as you'd like, I'll close this next week if there's no more activity
@Safiya @Dracarys @Disa @Panacea + Serein, + Defne

The belongings of Verapaz had been moved to the mesa, the lake below would be prepared for planting, and the various caves and tunnels would soon be scouted for dens. All that was left for now was to gather, and to celebrate.

Pacing his new borders, Kemal tossed up his head and howled. A call for Verapaz to join him in song, a warning to surrounding packs, reassurance sent to Safiya - they were waiting for her.

He felt sure that life here was worth the work it took. They were closer to the heart of things, the land had life. More dispersals would pass through, more potential warriors, maybe even potential husbands and wives for who lived here now.

Staring out at the setting sun, the Aguila promised himself that the right decision had been made. Hadn't it?

the sound of his call carried through the pass—low and rich, a sound that filled the bones, that pulled her from her work like a tide drawing toward the moon.

margarida lifted her head from where she’d been sorting herbs into neat little bundles, their stems bound with dry grass and twine. already, the caches were ready; the pelts—soft, treated, smelling of smoke and resin—lay folded with care, just as her mãe had taught her. it was the art of a wife. the art of a woman who would make a kingdom thrive.

she listened until the last note faded into the dusk, her breath held as if to catch the echo before it slipped away. then she smiled. faint, knowing.

so it was true.

verapaz had a heart, and it beat in kemal’s chest.

her paws moved before thought could stop them, the pelts tied to her back, her head high. she answered in brief. a honeyed tone of song. she walked as her mother once had. graceful, clean, carrying the quiet pride of one who knew her purpose.

While the howls of her packmates rang out through the mesa, Serein was retching in the shadow of a stony overhang. Her own voice remained absent from their song. By the time she'd wiped her mouth dry with a foreleg and buried the mess she'd made, all she could feel was exhaustion. Perhaps a tinge of shame, too, but she didn't think too hard about it.

She disappeared into the shadows, seeking the solace of the hidden den she'd chosen for herself. The sickness would pass soon, she thought. She hoped.

Truth be told, she didn't really know.

Disa was in the process of burying half-eaten fish carcasses in the future garden of poisons when the Kemal called the pack to song. She listened as their voices rose and fell, and eventually added her own to the fray - an low, discordant note that stayed low to the ground.