3/27/2026, 10:08 PM
fa’liya absorbs his answer in silence. steps to follow—responsibilities, should the ice raven choose her. her father speaks, and she listens—her ears tilt back, uncertain, but she does not argue.
fast. two nights of hunger. her body, already hollowed by the march, tightens at the idea, but hunger is familiar. weakness is not new.
go out among the caribou. her gaze drifts back to the herd, tawny shapes shifting against the white. she wonders, briefly, what it would mean to speak to them and expect an answer.
the wind moves between them again, colder here, sharper. it catches in her throat and pulls a quiet wheeze from her chest. she turns her head slightly, swallowing it down, shoulders tightening until it passes.
after that, you will come back to me. her steps slow for half a beat before matching his again, though her breathing has grown quieter now—carefully measured, steadied now as she nods, obedient. there is comfort in that part, at least. something to return to, even in failure.
fast. two nights of hunger. her body, already hollowed by the march, tightens at the idea, but hunger is familiar. weakness is not new.
go out among the caribou. her gaze drifts back to the herd, tawny shapes shifting against the white. she wonders, briefly, what it would mean to speak to them and expect an answer.
the wind moves between them again, colder here, sharper. it catches in her throat and pulls a quiet wheeze from her chest. she turns her head slightly, swallowing it down, shoulders tightening until it passes.
after that, you will come back to me. her steps slow for half a beat before matching his again, though her breathing has grown quieter now—carefully measured, steadied now as she nods, obedient. there is comfort in that part, at least. something to return to, even in failure.
yes, father. thank you.fa’liya says.