fa’liya arrives days after the rest. the ghost-talker had followed them at the pace her chest permits, and by the time she crests the final rise, evening has begun to gather in the hollows.

fa’liya stood at the last slope with her legs locked beneath her. the destination below was not so different from the places she had crossed to reach it, and yet by far it is the most beautiful—late summer had thickened the grasses until they folded over one another in green-gold waves. water caught the declining light and broke it into pink and yellow plates.

she had imagined reaching this place many times during the slow crawl southward. in those imaginings, there had been relief. perhaps even triumph. instead, she feels only the burning of her breath. the climb had set her heart against her ribs in a disordered rhythm, too fast and yet faltering, but rest would have to wait. the faint murmur of the pack drifted upward—the sound tugged at her, something deeper than thought.

she need only go to them for a moment. the fact is the only reason she swallows against the dryness in her throat and forces her legs to move.

the slope was gentle, but it felt steep beneath her weight. each movement sent a dull ache through her ribs, a reminder of the long road behind her, soon to be traversed again. still, she descended, drawn by the scent of them. as she neared the bottom, shapes began to separate from the grasses. figures turned. a few heads lifted, ears pricking toward her. recognition moved through them slowly, like wind through tall stems.

she kept walking until the distance between her and the pack began, at last, to close.

---

super late thread for all the puppies! dated back to the 19th.

Along a black basaltic jet of the grove, Iglux̂ waits, an anticipatory face at arrival, eyes wide and tail an eager flicker as each small body crests the final hillock. She is proud of Fa’liya for taking this step. Proud too of her brother, Caan, who had guided the pups so assuredly, who’d seemed to let go of some dousing of anger. It is good to see him in this role, to grow some hope in the silver who favors the promise of her own children.
The storm of Tatsaaye' is first to appear.
Soon, Nutuyikruk and her children will come; Meleys and her brood. And then, at last, Iglux̂ would have her own children before her once more. How deeply she has missed having them near.
And, if ice raven is satisfied, he will grant a kindness, and bring Cen to her side, that she and her husband might find one another again in what has been overshadowed by the arrival of their children.

her thoughts have gone soft around the edges, dulled beneath the steady hammering of her heart and the thinness of every breath. she watches a gray girl unfold from among the gathered bodies and cannot immediately remember what she means to do with it. greet her, perhaps. straighten herself. hide the trembling in her forelegs before those searching eyes find it.

fa’liya manages neither.

her pace falters once, then resumes. the grasses whisper against her belly as she passes through them, and somewhere beyond tatsaaye' she finds the pale gleam of iglux̂ upon the black stone. familiarity gathers piece by piece. saatsine. home.

a breeze comes sidelong across the grove, gathering water and damp earth and the thick animal musk of caribou. beneath it, something more dogged. coyote. the scent is faint enough that another breath might lose it entirely, but her body recognizes something within it before her exhausted mind can make sense of why. the fur along her spine lifts one slow ridge at a time.

snow.

for a moment she can almost feel it packed beneath her paws again. the endless white. the starved cow laid open upon it, then standing whole where death ought to have been. bone-white antlers branching outward until there was nowhere left to look. something behind her.

fa’liya’s gaze drifts past the bodies before her, unfocused. her ears turn backward. there is nothing there that she can see, and still that same peculiar awareness settles between her shoulders—the unmistakable impression of attention resting upon her from somewhere beyond sight. not close enough to touch. not distant enough to ignore.

her heart gives another unpleasant stumble. she slurs the silver's name as she inches closer, wispy. ...iglux̂.

Stand, Fa’liya. Finish the route.
In rote her mind reflects, waiting for Cen’s daughter to do as is custom; greet the cubs with words of wisdom and success from the mouth of Ghost Talker; to become a pillar for the young ones still learning this path.
There is none of it. Ravengirl lurches. At once, Iglux̂ is beside, lending weight where it is needed, steadying with a care that comes before thought.
“Fa’liya, you’ve done well,” she finds herself tender, speaking as she would to her own young daughter. There, the silver assumes a protective hunch, daring any other to question whether Fa’liya belongs.

iglux̂ comes to her before fa’liya realizes that she needs catching. the silver's shoulder settles beneath her own, warm and solid, and the relief of having something to lean against is so immediate that she nearly weeps for it. embarrassment follows a moment later. she ought to straighten, to offer some proper acknowledgment of the journey and those who had completed it before her, but her legs seem to their primary function of standing properly. instead, she allows herself to rest against iglux̂, blinking slowly as the woman's praise reaches her through the persistent rushing in her ears.

thank you, she murmurs, though it comes out rather poorly. her tongue feels thick against her teeth. she has not eaten properly in some time, and the emptiness beneath her ribs has become almost as uncomfortable as the frantic beating above it.

the gray girl's question takes longer to understand. fa’liya turns her head toward tatsaaye', regarding her through eyes that seem reluctant to settle upon any one thing. hurt? yes, she supposes. her chest aches terribly, and her throat burns with every breath. there is a dull, sickening pressure behind her eyes that makes the entire grove sway whenever she moves her head. only tired, she answers eventually. her mind remains elsewhere.

determinedly and suddenly renewed, she lifts her muzzle again, searching the breeze. the movement brings another faint darkness across her vision, and she leans a little more heavily against iglux̂ until it passes. there had been something there, she was certain! something unfamiliar beneath the abundance of saatsine, something that had stirred the same peculiar apprehension she remembered from her slumber. she could almost feel it at her back again, its attention travelling along the hollows of her spine.

yet the wind has shifted. what little she had caught of it has scattered among the grasses, leaving her with nothing but the uneasy certainty that it had been there at all. fa’liya's ears turn toward the distant treeline. she searches between the trunks, then along the water, where evening shadows have begun to gather beneath the reeds. there was nothing. why was there nothing?

iglux̂, she begins again, softer this time. a pause follows while she gathers enough breath to continue. do you smell that?

---

sorry for the delay ;_;

Tatsaaye's inquiry is upon them, looking with wide winterbark eyes that miss very little. She is saatsine, and no weakness is overlooked.
“This is your cousin Fa’liya, Tatsaaye',” bloodhunter is cautious with her tone, cocooning it in warmth. She knows she is being overly protective. Fa’liya is nearly an adult, and as ghost talker there are very few harms that will come to her within the clan. But it is concerning the thinness of her skin, stretched over the points of her haunches; how this trial intended for the young tines had so tested the ravengirl’s spirit when the long march loomed still ahead.
Iglux̂ tucks her chin into the soft fur behind her ears, forming thoughts around unvoiced prayers, quelling the awful batter of graver concerns. At the moment Fa’liya speaks her head lifts, craning to gather what might be scented beneath this grove’s brine.
“Tell me what it smells like.”