Dawnlark Plains Nɨ paa nɨ’a

AW but maybe @Ayovi? Vague timeline!

the plains whispered.
a cold whisper, long and low, that skated over the snowdrifts and hissed through her fur like an old spirit. silatuyok did not answer it—only bowed her head again to the frozen meat beneath her paws, breath misting as she pulled sinew from bone.
the elk had died yesterday. not by her jaws, but it did not matter. she’d tracked its limping trail for miles through the white, watched it fall to the weight of frost and time. and when the crows descended, she chased them off with a snarl that peeled from her throat like smoke from fire.
they could wait.
she ate with slow purpose now, face streaked in blood, her pale eyes trained to the horizon even as her teeth worked. the wind lifted, tossed the taupe lengths of her ruff around her narrow shoulders.
alone did not mean unknowing.
the scent of snow-wolves lingered faint behind her. glacier wolves. caribou hunters. maybe worse.

Dusky blooms bob on their stems in the last of winter’s fleecy breath. Ayovi seizes a mouthful, ripping them by the roots. She tears at the petals. Breaks the stems into pieces. Damp shreds of green sticks to her lips, red sap bleeds across her fur. The scent rises raw and wild, reeky as old smoke. She tears another mouthful and works the strands into a leather pack by her feet. In her ears is the impending whir of war, dark and humming like an angry hive.
When comes the loner wolf-scent Ayovi raises her head and watches the distant figure descend on an old kill. For the passing of several breaths she does not move, only chews at her harvest of fireweed, what would later be used for wound-healing when the time came. Then she draws the crude leather pouch upon her shoulders and gains to her feet, high tail over her spine signaling a warning. The lithe creature reminds her too much of her own flesh and blood to bear teeth. Ayovi’s approach is firm, but not unkind. She sees the face soft still with youth and stops short of the kill.
“You are on dangerous ground,” the huntress speaks bluntly. “The North is soon at war. I suggest you move into the south.”

the stranger’s voice carries on the wind—sharp like stone, edged with certainty. silatuyok, crouched low beside the hollow-boned carcass, lifts her head slowly. her ears twitch, registering tone more than meaning. the words... they slide off her like water.
her tongue presses to the roof of her mouth. she does not run. instead, she retreats a step from the kill, belly skimming the earth. not in fear—no—but in respect. tail drawn low, submissive, silatuyok’s amber eyes study the pale-furred woman, flicking briefly toward the swell of her belly. something clicks.
she is with life!
the hairs beneath her own ribs have thinned too. the change has come quietly, subtly, like thaw beneath snow.
tɨ... naavi’nü tüva, she murmurs softly, her voice like wind through dry grass. i—no understand.
she points gently to her chest with her nose, then offers a low whuff and another bow of her head. the kill is not worth a fight—not here. the wind carries something heavy, she can feel it too. war. death.
she does not want to be a part of it.

Beautiful is her voice. Dithering in delivery, but pealing and keen in all familiar places.
Ayovi stands once more in silence, her tail dropping in line with hips, ears splaying aside before hooking forward again. Stance gentled, and head low, the huntress’s lips part.
“It is not safe, there is much danger here,” Ayovi speaks once more, this time in ute. Clear and questioning, with more than a modicum of hope glazing the deep blue of her eyes.

silatuyok’s ears lifted high, and her whole body shifted with unspoken joy, head lowering with a soft whine as the woman’s voice curled in familiar rhythm. it was like water in a dry place—hearing her language again after so many moons, spoken by a stranger.
she crept forward a step, tail swaying slowly behind her in low, wolfish arcs.
náa! tǘwɨ! she murmured in return, voice breathy with disbelief.
then, slower, more certain now, i have gotten by on scraps, she confirmed, ears canting slightly. i know no other place than the tundra as my home…
her eyes flicked up to white woman’s, sharp but earnest, like a beast waiting to know if it would be fed or driven off. but… i do not know where to go now. i came with the snow, and now it is melting.

“Feed, feed!” It is offered as a benediction on a voice grown hoarse with feeling. “My name is Ayovi. I have made a home here, in the mountains. You may harbor with us as long as you wish,” she looks on, eager for the woman to take her fill. On this contentious ground Ayovi would be her shield, and the huntress makes this known, allowing her tail to fly high and uncontested.
A liver nose tests the air, and though she finds no familial scents she cannot turn face from the threadbare woman.
“You know the language of my people in Big Sky; how?”

silatuyok paused, thin limbs rooted in place. she blinked slow, as if awed by the welcome, as if her bones could not believe it. it had been long since she was offered shelter by another woman—longer still since she had spoken her name.
she lowered her muzzle to the offered meal first. a quiet, thankful sound rumbled in her throat, not quite a word. but when she lifted her head again, her pale eyes gleamed with emotion.
silatuyok, she said in broken common, tapping her narrow chest with a paw. of nishkaw’tep. moon sky.
she tilted her head then, ears twitching at ayovi’s question. elders teach lots, she rasped. long… time ago. i remember. this is language of people. her voice faded, throat dry. but her eyes said more—spoke of old roots and stories passed down in the cold.
she dipped her head again in gratitude. you are kind, she added quietly. but mother eats more. please. the word was shaped with care, reverence.

Ayovi crouches to pick absently, eyes and mind rapt still upon the woman. Silatuyok. The world seems to fly apart and rejoin again in a form she better recognizes.
“I’ve missed hearing it,” her voice is kept conversational, but there is a deep nostalgia there, beneath the forced bright tones.
“There are few of us here in the North,” the huntress explains— but perhaps even fewer in the South. “My husband is Northern. But he is a good man. There are a few others upon mount, all travelers. None like... us. But it is a safe place. A fortuitous one, where spirits are loud.” If such shamanist practices appealed to Silatuyok then Ayovi would seek her partnership.

silatuyok’s ears perked, pale head lifting slightly at the mention. there was a flicker of something tender behind her feral stare—faint, but warming like the first silver cast of moonlight after cloud.
i am of the moon's moiety, she hummed with a breath of pride, thumping her tail once to the ground behind her. i am moon-sky girl. nishkaw’tep. my mother’s name.
her words came slow, careful in broken common, but she did not mind the time it took to shape them. this was a joy. the kind that softened her usually stoic mask.
spirits loud, yes, she nodded once, firmly. when wind move strange. when owls fly low. when... snow falls in wrong time. she looked toward the sky, ears tilting. they speak.
she turned back to ayovi, and this time, there was a real smile there. toothless. trusting.
safe place? she said, with a low grunt of approval. maybe... i help? for herbs. for watch. then, after a beat, in earnest:
you are... like cousin. from far.

“We would welcome you, Silatuyok,” a smile spreads up her face, trickling through her body with an excitement that finds the end of an ivory tail-tip. “I wish to erect altars, and a sanctum upon the mount; a place we can work in communion with the spirits, where all may come to listen for them.” Rising to her paws, a nose trails the arc of her shoulder, eyes finding her collection of fireweed before moving to the thickening trees beyond.
“But I must stay in the lowlands for now. An army will soon march this way, and I expect they will draw blood.” Her ears splay. She gathers a step closer to the woman, directing her gaze into the North.
“You see the peak disappearing in the clouds? That is home. That is Winsook. Go there; rest. Take your fill from our stock. If any give you trouble, say Ayovi has sent you.”

silatuyok dipped her head, humbled by the offering—by the warmth of it, by the certainty in ayovi’s voice. no one had spoken to her like that in many moons.
thank you, she murmured, voice soft with reverence. the gentle arc of her shoulders as she bowed. i will go.
she followed the line of ayovi’s gaze, to the mountain crowned in clouds. winsook. the name felt good on her tongue when she repeated it silently, committing it to memory like a prayer. a place to listen for the spirits—yes. that was a thing she had always longed for, even when she had no words to name it.
you stay strong, she added, stepping forward with a flick of her pale tail. her nose brushed lightly along ayovi’s cheek, an instinctual sign of respect and kinship. when the fighting ends, i help build sanctum.
and with that, she turned toward the mountain—her steps light despite the burden she carried. the fox pelt, washed and wrapped in damp herbs, was tucked beneath her shoulder. behind her, the river sang. ahead, the spirits waited.
she did not look back. she did not need to.