Cabhair liom

She hadn’t slept in two days, beyond a few short naps that left her feeling no more rested than before she’d slept. At the moment, she was working over scraps of leather, with Loshir and Dele’s help. It had been tanned and dyed white with lime. Now they were working to soften and scrape it. It had been from a buck brought down in the autumn.

She needed to be prepared, and the thick hide was part of the preparations. Armor. She’d been watching Red craft, from time to time, noting everything he did with interest. She knew her mane was a liability. In the long run, if wars came, she supposed se would cut it and her tail’s long hair down to minimize available points for an opponent to snatch hold of.

But before it came to that, she would try this. A piece of armor that her mane would be hidden under, and her neck protected by.

She froze as a call rippled to her ears down the ravine. Distant, and the last time she’d heard that voice calling at the border, she’d been a child. Her uncle Tornach. Relief flooded through her. He’d lived in the east for as long as she’d been alive, and the eruption’s destruction had spared little of the eastern portion of Boreas. It terrified her to think that the Uncle she’d barely gotten to know or spend time with might have been taken by the blast.

With a scatter of tools, the Spirit scrambled to her paws at a dead sprint down the ravine and out into the Plains, not slowing until she saw the wall. It still took considerable effort to slow her strides to a brisk trot, as eager as she was to make sure she wasn’t just imagining the call. But a tired rustle of hooves over ashy ground and grass from the other side of the wall told her he was there.

He looked worse than she felt. The three elk huddled, wan with exhaustion, but she barely cast them more than a concerned look before she moved to lean into the tall, stormy grey male, checking him over as Loshir whirled back to bound toward one of the caches of meat.

Finally she stepped back to look her uncle in the eyes, fighting to keep her voice steady as she said, “I’m so glad you’re okay.”

Loshir padded back, a well-aged haunch almost dragging between his forelegs. The meat was on the verge of turning, but it was still edible at this point. With a glance toward the tired elk, he lowered the haunch to the ground in front of Tornach and slunk out of sight, not wanting to spook the animals.

Walk ---- "Speak" ---- "Hear" ---- Think