Dawnlark Plains kwana-ci

coväh moved like the wind through the sagebrush, his steps careful, measured. the mule deer had not yet seen him, its ears twitching at the faintest sounds, but it did not spook. not yet.
he lowered himself, muscles coiling beneath a thick pelt dusted with the colors of dry earth and stone. the scent of the deer filled his lungs, mingling with the crisp, cold air of the plains. this was unfamiliar—this was not home. the land of big sky, vast and unyielding. the land of his people. not here.
he exhaled slowly, the plume of his breath curling into the morning light. he did not rush. the deer would move, and when it did, he would be ready. his ancestors watched from above, their whispers carried on the wind.
make the kill clean. honor the life given.
he tightened his stance, muscles shifting beneath the thick ruff of his shoulders. the hunt was not yet over, but it would be soon.

maybe a @Skorpa or @Ayovi eyebrow wiggles

<33

Evenings make her sick. Mornings make her famished, and she’d stolen away to the plains in pursuit of the grazing herds here. A successful kill might feed all upon the mount for a day or two, but Ayovi felt she might devour an entire calf in her voracity. The pink flesh of her belly had just begun to swell with Skorpa’s cubs, and though it is scarcely noticeable yet to others, she feels the change so drastically as her strokes take the acres. As she slides along the ice to look for outlying movement.
She’d have settled for a calf, but drifting among a tight herd of mule deer is a female with an old wound. Not initially evident but perceptible to the hunter’s eye. Ayovi beds down in the snow, watching for a time to make certain— cross-wind from the stranger who similarly marked this query as his.
Something startles the herd. Their snouts pull up into the air, rolling great clouds of steam from lungs and cantering off for the treeline.
Abandoning her overlook, Ayovi springs through the mist, raising torrents of snow beneath adept paws.

he slid forward, quiet as the shadows that crept across the snow. the wind moved with him, brushing cool against his back, and he thought only of the earth beneath his paws and the weight of the air.
then the herd startled.
ears flicked forward, head lifting sharply as the deer lurched into motion—legs pounding, snow scattering in wild sprays as they fled for the trees.
coväh stiffened, watching the wounded one stumble after them. nearly his. nearly.
a flash of movement cut through the fogged breath of the plains. another hunter?
his head tilted, nostrils flaring as he tasted the air, but whatever scent lingered was thin and distant, lost to the churn of trampled snow and fleeing bodies.
tch. a quiet sound of annoyance from the back of his throat, though he stayed low, lingering in the remnants of the chase. perhaps the spirits were testing him. perhaps the hunt was not his alone today.
but unseen eyes... he felt them now. watching.
he sprinted off, too, the scent of blood from a wounded doe filling his nose.

With a steering-rudder tail Ayovi moves after the herd, mannered gallop vaulting her seamlessly over deep drifts. It is the wolf’s edge under snowfall, where bulky creatures must raze a trail, the huntress flies above it. With this advantage she covers quick ground, towing a garland of snowflakes behind her. The hinds bellow and split but the injured doe lags, her uneven gait hindered. She shrieks as the huntress nears, emotions flying as the ivory grabs a hold of her rear leg to slow her.
Ayovi is excited each time it bellows only to be met by another hail of deadly fangs. She grabs tight and sinks her heels into the snow— releasing when hooves make their splay. A sharp kick slices her shoulder.
The huntress backs off with a low cry, drawing instead a circle around her prey— and inadvertently the man in tawny gold who has come to claim this kill.
Gleaming teeth flaunt then for both doe and man, a wild possessiveness singing out.

coväh had been running her long before the pale woman appeared.
he’d known the doe’s weakness—the limp, the strain in her flank. it was patience that kept him at her heels, waiting for the right moment, the right break. but then there was white against the snow, swift and sure, cutting into his hunt like wind through pine.
his eyes, bright and narrow, slid to the woman circling. his breath was steady, even now, though his muscles burned. the chase wasn’t done. not yet.
silent, he moved opposite her path, boxing the doe in. it was easy with two. easier still when the other hunter knew how to handle herself.
he glanced once at the woman, catching the flash of her teeth. the fire in her eyes was something familiar—something that stirred a grin, brief and sharp, across his scarred muzzle.
finish it, his tone was low, numic, more earth than air. it wasn’t a challenge. not yet. not when the kill was nearly theirs. he didn't expect her to understand, but the words came too rushed. 
and when it was done, when the doe stilled, coväh would take his share without complaint. there was plenty to go around, after all.

Who is he?
Teeth do not meet her’s in a snarl over the carcass. He grins— ever fleeting, but clear and wide above the messy aftermath of their hunt. It is uncanny! So much so that the smile burns into her mind as Ayovi regains breath opposite him. She cannot be driven to feed, only to trace each of his strides with fervent indigo eyes while a dance of strong numic replays in her ears.
His voice, she needs to hear it again. Boldly she skirts the kill, gliding for him, maw lifting to take in the whole of the scarred face. Something flits across her features— a nervousness, a compulsive intrigue. She gasps just a little, her heart thudding wildly.
“Coväh?”

his ears flick forward, disbelieving, before a crooked grin unfurls across his scarred muzzle, sharp and boyish in its surprise. ayovi? dove? he echoes, voice warm and incredulous all at once, as if saying her name aloud might anchor the sight of her to reality. what! is it really you?
for a moment he just stands there, chest heaving from the chase, blood soaking the white of his chin. it’s absurd—this reunion over torn flesh and snow—but gods, he’s grinning like a fool.
look at you! he breathes, circling the kill to meet her halfway. his shoulder brushes hers, casual and thoughtless, like they’d never spent moons apart, like there hadn’t been distance and war and ruin between the last time and now. still stealing all the good kills, huh? a flash of teeth, playful and bright, though his gaze lingers too long on her face.
there’s something electric about her presence, something old and familiar. aja! he laughs, low and rough, i thought the mountains had eaten you.

Her name in his mouth again— it sparks a feeling, sharp and eager. He is smiling, inviting her to laugh, as if they were just two mischievous children again. She sails, feigning a nip to Coväh’s flank then skittering off; returning to spring nights when she’d slip away from Ashēer to play with the boy from across the creek.
Her breaths come fast, melding with laughter but tears are standing in her eyes when she slows to study him.  Three years, he would have been. His gaze looks older. His fur is disordered, a scar claims his cheekbone, but it is him. Her same Coväh.
“Sky boy,” she summons a wavering voice at last, “I thought— I feared—”
Cheeks flowing then, she steps slowly into the space of his arms to see closer, to take in his scent.
“How?”

coväh is still for a moment, watching the shift in her, the way her laughter trembles on the edge of something else—something heavier. he remembers her like this, full of light, full of motion, always just a step ahead, just out of reach.
but then she slows. and then, she sees him.
his tail wags, slow, easy, before his limbs move without thought. he closes the distance, reaching to press his muzzle against her shoulder, inhaling deeply, breathing her in. ayovi. she smells of wind and memory, of something he had once lost and never thought to find again.
dove of the creek, he hums, voice low, warm. you—! but he does not finish. they are here now. they do not have to think of the past.
he pulls back, just enough to look at her, eyes bright with a boyish mischief that does not fully mask the emotion beneath. the herds move. i follow! he announces, as if it were that simple. as if he had not wandered too far, lost too much. he wags his tail again, then drops into a playful bow, ears flicking forward. run with me.
the past is heavy. the future uncertain. but right now—right now—he is here, and so is she!

This. It is this she misses. Coväh coaxing play from her. To be a child again. They both carried the sharp knowledge of life’s fragility— so why should they spend their’s tangled in politics? In regrets and shame and things that didn’t matter?
The ivory tears and chases; bites and yelps. They make chaotic, aerial designs in the snow and bat at each other between trees that drop their frigid yields. Ayovi dashes and lunges and tramples and waves her tail so high and insistent that all in the world can feel its beat. And if she had a thousand golden days just like this, it wouldn’t be enough. She slows again.
“I've missed you,” comes the quiet confession. Spirits, she wants to cry again. Because if the Wide Fang had taken any emotion away, it is her resistance to affection. When she cares for someone, she needs them to know. Anything— everything else felt like a waste.
“You! You are so… so handsome!”  The thought strikes her with such surprise. Where is the gangly boy she  used to know? He must be drowning in women! “Finally grew into your nose, thank the spirits!”

aja! you flatter me, woman! he grinned, stepping back, spinning once like some proud fool. what next? will you call me wise?
but then—he really looks at her.
wait, wait—hold on. his head tilts, gaze flicking over her. then back up, wide-eyed. your ears are not twice the size of your head, and you are with child?!
a gasp. dramatic.
spirits, have you become a responsible pagwi-nüwa? he steps closer, sniffing like he might find proof. i cannot believe it!

“I have always been responsible,” she counters, raising her head against the man’s rummaging. She smiles, watchful, every flick of tail a reminiscent pleasure. “You do look wise, Coväh,” the huntress quiets, glancing down at the protrusion of a pale belly between her legs.
“I am,” the smile on her lips widens, “they have a good father. He is so sweet on them. On me.” With full blue eyes she watches him now, conjuring a fantasy where Skorpa and Coväh accept one another, for how blatantly she adores them; both her men.
“We are living on the mountain,” a nose frisks for the white-packed peaks at her flank. “It is not Big Sky. But it’s a place for you. I’d like for you to meet him— and them.” Her tail beats, her eyes gloss.
Coväh was the last family she had left. The only fragment of red creek that hadn’t been swallowed by the affront of Wide Fang, and she didn’t want to let him go.
She couldn’t.

coväh grins, wide and easy, like the wind had just carried her words right into his chest and filled him up with something warm.
that is... i'm happy for 'ya! he declares, and for once, there’s nothing teasing in his voice, no playful quip to follow. he means it. really means it. because seeing her like this—glowing, strong, safe—it does something to him. a softening. a settling. ayovi had always been something bright, something fierce, and now she was all that and more.
but then, her words sink a little deeper, and his grin quirks, tilting into something a little more coväh. wait, wait, wait— he straightens, stepping back just slightly to study her with mock scrutiny. is this an invitation?
his brows lift, a glint of something daring in his gaze. meet the guy, meet the pups? he presses a paw to his chest, feigning deep consideration. i dunno, ‘vi, sounds like a lotta pressure. what if he doesn’t like me? what if the kids gonna like me too much?
but he doesn’t make her wait long. he exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a chuckle. i will go, he assures, voice softer now, real. but i wish to explore the plains first.
one last taste of freedom before he steps into the world she’s built. before he sees the life she’s made without him.

A warm silence blooms between them— Ayovi, who had grown up between fear and a desperate desire for her father’s approval, had not anticipated the true impact of Coväh’s acceptance. The boy from across the creek was not a thing like her Ashēeran patriarch, but he was the last of them. And in the stallion’s joy she heard her father’s, too.
“Of course it is,” she breathes, stammering, tossing her arms about his shoulders before he can be persuaded to run off again. “They’re important to me. And so are you,” her laughter turns into a nuzzle, sinking her nose deep into the coarseness of his unruly neck. Scenting for any last vestiges of home.
“They’ll adore you. They all will,” she assures, for the hunt ran so strongly through the veins of norse and plains. Ayovi draws back her nose to see once more into those sunrise eyes. “You know I would never hinder your adventures. But I want you in my life, Coväh,” she murmurs, surprised by the possessive sting in her own tone.

coväh grinned, wide and shameless, that rogueish, boyish glint flashing in his golden eyes as he rocked back on his heels. you hear that? he mused, tilting his head, voice warm with amusement. important. you’re stuck with me now, ayovi.
her laughter was a balm against the cold, the press of her nose against his fur drawing something unspoken from the depths of him. home. familiarity. the wild tangle of their shared past, the creek where they had raced under the sun, the dreams whispered into the wind.
ah, they’ll love me. he puffed his chest out with mock bravado, though his tail flicked with something softer, something genuine. what’s not to love?
but then her voice lowered, rich with something real, something that made his smirk falter just slightly. i want you in my life, coväh.
for all his wit, for all his silver-tongued charm, he had no quip for that.
so he did what he did best.
he winked. oh, don’t worry, sweetheart. you won’t get rid of me that easy.
and with that, he turned, bounding a few steps away, before tossing her one last rakish grin over his shoulder.
i’ll be back!
and then he was off, the wind rushing past him, carrying his laughter into the sky.

When he is gone, Ayovi settles into the snow and frees her tears. For the first time she acknowledges an aching homesickness for Big Sky. Coväh has fled with the wind, feeling more like a figment now that he has faded away, but she still sees his golden form in her mind.
Try as she might, she can no longer conjure her father’s face with clarity. Her breaths break into sobs.
“It’s ok to cry sometimes,” she croons to her belly, holding the half-formed lives between her hands; laying like this until dawn turns to day. She grazes her heavy side with her lips, holding her lips there a moment. “Let’s go find daddy.”
Then Ayovi musters to her feet, filling her belly and harvesting a haunch for Skorpa; the liver for Elowen.