The high steppe wind cut like a blade, carrying the scent of dust and distant snow. Suudel rode the currents, vast white wings outstretched, her pale pink eyes scanning the sprawl of the Khan's encampment below. The rhythmic beat of her heart was a drum against the silence.

A plump hare near the ravine... warm blood on the tongue... The unbidden, predatory thought surfaced, sharp and vivid.

She snapped her avian focus back instantly. Focus. Duty required vigilance, not indulgence.

Her gaze swept methodically over the yurts, the horse lines, the distant sentry points. Nothing stirred out of place. Yet.

Movement flickered at the edge of her vision. Suudel tilted a wing, banking sharply. Below, near the grandest yurt save the Khan's own, a figure emerged. The Consort.

Alone. Without escort.

Suudel's pulse quickened beneath layers of feathers. Why? Where? Suspicion warred instantly with protective instinct. Spy? Foolishness? Danger.

Decision was instantaneous. Wings folded tight. Suudel plummeted, a silent white arrow aimed at the earth beside the Consort. The ground rushed up. Wind screamed past her pinions. At the last possible moment, the shift tore through her—a crackling rush of bone, muscle, and feather reshaping.

Her bare feet hit the hard-packed earth with a soft thud, knees bending to absorb the impact. She landed in a half-crouch, directly in the Consort's path, the transition from air to land seamless. White hair, momentarily unbound, whipped across her face before settling. She straightened, the heavy braid swinging against her reinforced leather pauldrons.

Her face was a mask of calm determination, porcelain-pale skin unmarred by exertion. Only the faintest narrowing of her sensitive pale pink eyes betrayed the storm within—suspicion wrestling with an overwhelming need to shield. She noted how the Consort clutched her sleeve, perhaps startled. Unprotected. Exposed.

Suudel's posture radiated contained authority, a barrier between the Consort and the vast, unpredictable steppe. She kept her gloved hands relaxed but ready near her dagger hilt. The silence stretched for a beat, filled only by the sighing wind.

"I will accompany you, my lady," Suudel stated, her voice low, clear, and utterly final. The unspoken command hung in the cool air: You will not go alone. Her gaze swept the horizon again, a sentinel already assessing threats. No argument. Your safety is mine.

She subtly shifted her stance, placing herself slightly between the Consort and the open expanse. Her eyes briefly softened as they flickered over the Consort's face, checking for distress, before hardening once more into vigilant stone.

"The wind carries more than dust today." She paused, noting the faint scent of lavender clinging to the Consort's sleeves. Stolen moment for herbs? Or signal? Her own gloved fingers flexed. "State your path. This shadow shields it."

Inside, war raged. Duty demanded suspicion—every unescorted step could be treason's footprint. Yet watching a stray strand of hair escape the Consort's hood, something softer, fiercer, tightened in Suudel's throat. Protect. Always protect. The hunger for rabbit was long forgotten. Only vigilance remained.