Citlali was dozing off by this point—she hadn't heard the footsteps. She couldn't even feel them—the one other way she could foresee the approach of another.

She simply felt the stone against her side and raised her head. Was that the work of nature, nothing more than the rock tumbling down the ridge? Or was that... a pointed attempt to get her attention?

There was not a long time to speculate—the voice rang out, a lilt carrying something between mockery and jest. Citlali jolted against the ground, swiftly rising, ears twisting in desperation to pinpoint who on earth had just said that.

...caribou? she parroted with a breath. Her heartbeat was swift with skepticism. Do I look like one? Her head tilted. She'd never seen caribou. Even if she could see, they were certainly not animals who grazed in the prairies. Not in the south, as she had.

A feathery tail swiftly swept to and fro against her hocks. A nervous movement. One that spoke of the desire for peace along with an aversion to violence that she prayed the other would share.