ksura.
without another thought she broke into a run, all the cold calculation of a scout thrown to the wayside. the grass tore beneath her claws, the stones blurred past — none of it mattered. she ran for the tether that had not broken, even when the saatsine fell apart around them, even when blood stained the rivers and hope became a rare and bitter thing.
cresting a low ridge, she found him — thrashing like a creature possessed against a battered pine, his teeth sunk into a stubborn branch, limbs tangled, every movement a battle of sheer, mad determination. it was so perfectly him that morwenna, proud and broken creature that she was, felt a painful heat bloom behind her eyes.
she did not call out. she let him fall, branch and all, crashing to the earth in a chaos of dust and pine needles.
then she was there — not with ceremony, not as a queen descending upon a subject, but as one survivor finding another. she crossed the ground between them in a heartbeat, breath raw in her throat, and pressed her muzzle fiercely to his shoulder, grounding herself in the solid reality of him.
still fighting the world, i see,she murmured, her voice low, rich, and threaded through with a rare, hard-won fondness. her tail flicked once behind her, sharp with emotion she did not often allow herself to show.