silatuyok had been still for some time, her breath quiet beneath the hush of wind. the meadow, though foreign, was kind beneath her worn paws— its soft grass bent but did not break, its scent clung like warmth to her fur. she had wandered far, seeking no den, no claim— only quiet. only peace.
when the boy approached, his voice did not startle her. it trembled, yes, but not out of fear. it was a tremor of duty, of youth learning what it meant to stand tall. her ears turned toward him, but she did not rise. she remained where she was—curled like snowdrift against the green, a slope of pale fur streaked with the earth’s own hues.
his tail flagged. his voice cracked. he bore his flame like it would keep him safe.
silatuyok’s eyes, pale and soft as misted dawn, found his.
you are brave, she said, her words thick with accent, the common tongue like river stones in her mouth.
she shifted only to lower her head in deference, the old way— chin to chest, a gesture of peace between strangers.
i do not come to take. a pause, as her nose lifted to taste the wind, only to pass. to look. to remember.
her voice grew quiet, gentle like wind through cedar trees. i am silatuyok. plains-walker. i is no enemy to avon.