Emberwood ﹌ Txumtsyìp

AW but maybe @Skukä he is looking for!

the river had narrowed, its banks clawed with frozen rocks, but tey'gan pressed on.
each breath rose like smoke from his lips, and his blue eyes scanned every bend, every shadow between pines. he’d followed the gulls, the broken reeds, the faintest hints of her trail. always north.
skukä.
her name lingered in his chest like firelight. she was out here. she had to be.
the sea hunter pressed forward, tall frame moving with silent urgency. he would not stop until he found her.

whatever is gleaned from the river shadow, skuka does not linger.
she think of returning to the camp at the base of the mountain, but she is not one to retrace her steps. it is easier to go forward if you do not look back; so she does not, and moves north until nightfall, and then further for a morning, only pausing for a quick drink.
onward, and she has the wherewithal to snap her teeth across the spine of something small and furred—a stoat, or something like it. it doesn't matter. her meal is quick and unsatisfying. as she hurries to bury the remains, movement catches her attention and she freezes.
her eyes move among the trees; her ears pivot for every sound thereafter. something races through the green.

skukä!
the voice came like the rush of riverwater—low, breathless, alive with disbelief.
tey’gan burst from the undergrowth like a ghost come back to life, long limbs carrying him across the green in a blur. his breath caught when he saw her—still standing, still strong, still her.
i thought you were lost, he said, his voice cracking mid-sentence.
he didn’t mean just to the wilds.
his chest heaved as he slowed, golden eyes sweeping over her, drinking in every detail—the dirt at her paws, the blood at her muzzle, the stubborn, radiant living of her.
you’re a hard one to follow. a soft laugh, colored with awe and something deeper.
he stepped closer, careful not to crowd her, tail swaying low.
but i told you—where you go, i go.

she thinks of the man at the riverbank, at first.
but this body isn't giant, and it moves as if swimming through the foliage; she recognizes the boy easily enough, but she does not go to meet him. let him do the work.
she is aloof to his commentary.
her eyes flick over him dismissively, and she returns to finish her covering up the evidence of her meal. the sound of her claws scraping the ground is loud, and so is the susurration of the wind through the boughs above.
i followed the river. there are people there. not our People. the last of the gravel and dirt is in place, and she looks up to where a fallen branch of pine is caught among bushes. this, she grabs and pulls across the work and is done.
without looking to tey'gan, she comments: and your brother?

his frown deepened—not at her, but at the nothing she confirmed.
no People. just river-dwellers, strangers. not theirs.
tey’gan moved with a quietness unnatural for a wolf his size, slipping through the underbrush like current over stone. he didn’t speak at first. just watched her work. the way she covered the kill. the way she didn’t look at him.
close, he said. hunting..
then, finally, he looked at her.
he says likes you.
he cracked a smile.
you smell like bone, he added suddenly. not cruel, not soft. just truth. but you bury what you take.
a pause.
why?

close. this is good.
she flicks an ear when he speaks opinions, her brow lifting slightly as she is looking down at the work; but when she is finished and he is asking her why, skuka blinks at him a moment.

eywa gives, we give back. she meant their People, but it was possible this was a habit born of the forest and not the sea. she looks over to the space that was like a cache, and like a grave, and like the wilderness because of how she had hidden things so well—smiling faintly at her success.

then she looks to him and up, at the trees, judging the time and what to do next.
until we find our place in this wilderness, i do not what strangers on the trail. they were dangerous because they were not known to her—to them.

ah, he murmured, ears flicking with faint approval. we give back to the ocean.
his gaze followed hers to the burial cache, the place where the earth had been touched with reverence, not waste. something in him stirred—recognition, maybe. not of the act, but the meaning behind it.
eywa sees, he added, softer. whether sea or soil.
he stepped closer, but not too close, mindful of her space—of her tension, always present, just beneath the skin. like a bowstring drawn but never loosed.
his eyes lifted with hers to the trees. the light filtered through like it did on reef floors, dappling their coats in fragments of sun and shadow.
this land is not ours. not yet. we do not know what listens. or what hungers.
his tail flicked once behind him, slow and thoughtful.
we’ll find it, he said, almost a vow. our place.