Qeya River home & consonance

Gjalla sat at the edge of the ridge, her gaze fixed on the stars above. The chill of the night tugged at her, but it did little to sway her. The heavens had a certain allure tonight—distant and elusive. Her eyes traced constellations that had always brought some comfort, but tonight, they felt more like distant whispers of lives she couldn't touch. Like they knew her pain, even though they could do nothing about it.

"Shouldn't be out here alone," came a familiar voice, gentle but firm. She recognized that tone well. Her spirit sister’s presence was always a comfort, even if she never quite knew how to ask for it.

The she-wolf padded to her side, her movements graceful, despite the subtle shift in her posture. A telltale roundness in her belly—an early sign of the life growing inside her. Gjalla made an effort not to mention it.

Gjalla didn't turn to face her, but there was a slight shift in her posture, a subtle acknowledgment of the intrusion. "Not alone, Mo," she muttered. "The stars are with me."

---

for @Keda !

quietly, she approached. her belly taut with the changing of her scent. hormones. she was a different woman now, coming out of her season. the lingering shadow of sun eater's scent was potent against her hips, her glands. but she was still her.

k'edghildza.

her eyes softened as she drew near to gjalla, the faint light of the stars casting a silver glow over them both.

she leaned in, her muzzle pressing gently to gjalla’s cheek, a comforting gesture that lingered for a moment before she settled beside her. the cool air brushed against her fur, but she paid it no mind, her attention solely on her spirit sister.

it’s been too long since we shared the stars, she added softly, her gaze lifting to the heavens. the faintest shift in her expression betrayed her emotions—a blend of joy, anticipation, and perhaps a touch of unease as her body carried its new burden. but here, with gjalla, she let herself simply be.

Gjalla didn’t flinch as Morwenna approached, the subtle change in her scent betraying something newer, something shifting within her. The hormones, the mark of her season. It was impossible to ignore, but the woman was indifferent.

When Morwenna’s muzzle brushed against her cheek, the touch was soft. It wasn’t a gesture that Gjalla had anticipated, but something in her chest tightened all the same. For a moment, her mind spun, caught between a thousand unspoken thoughts. The warmth was fleeting, but it carried a weight—one she had missed.

She exhaled, the breath shaky, but steadying quickly as Morwenna settled beside her. The stars above were as cold and distant as they always were, yet somehow tonight, with Morwenna there, they seemed a little less so. Gjalla felt her posture loosen, just slightly.

"It has," she murmured, her voice rough, but softening at the edges. "haven't had much time for it."She glanced over at her spirit sister, her gaze flickering across the curve of her body, the subtle signs of change that were no longer so easy to ignore. Morwenna had always been the more open of the two, a contrast to the glaring cold that was Gjalla. She mellowed her out a bit, over the years.

Gjalla swallowed, her eyes tracing the stars again, but this time, her thoughts weren’t so heavy. The night didn’t feel as far away as it had before, with Morwenna here beside her. She could almost believe the stars might hear them, might listen.

"How are you?" The question came out slower than she intended, the words weighted with more care than she’d meant to show. "Really, I mean."

she settled gracefully beside gjalla, the subtle shift in her body lending a sense of calm as she drew her tail around her paws. eyes lifted briefly to the stars, their distant glow reflected in her gaze before she turned her attention fully to her spirit sister.

i am… happy, she said, her voice soft but carrying a quiet conviction. it feels as though this was the right choice. sun eater has been ever the serving husband. more than i could have hoped for. and the others— she paused, her gaze drifting momentarily to the horizon, they have welcomed me as though i have always belonged.

she exhaled, a breath that carried both relief and contentment. there is a peace here that i never thought i would find, she admitted, her tone dipping slightly as she glanced at gjalla. and i do not miss it.

she lingered on her spirit sister’s face, searching. do you? she asked, her voice quieter now, tinged with curiosity. the kingdom?

Gjalla’s ears twitched, but she didn’t lift her gaze from the stars. They were so far away—just like home. Gjalla didn’t answer right away. The faintest furrow in her brow betraying the thoughts swirling behind her eyes. Morwenna’s words washed over her, heavy with meaning and light with hope. Gjalla felt the warmth of them, even if they did not quite reach her.

The question lingered in the air, pulling at her like the tide. Finally, she shifted, her ears flicking back slightly. "Not Evenspire. The kingdom never fit me the way it fit you." There was no bitterness in her words—only a quiet admission, laid bare under the stars. "..I miss home." she admitted, her voice almost lost in the night. The statement falls from her tongue heavy, laced with something more. Significant in a way she could not explain or understand.

Her chest tightened, and her tail shifted against the ground, betraying the unrest she tried to mask. "Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like, if things had been different. If I had stayed. If I had taken the throne instead of running from it." Her voice grew quieter with each word, as though speaking them aloud made them more real, more painful.

Gjalla finally turned her head slightly, her gaze meeting Morwenna’s. There was no envy in her eyes, but there was something else—something heavier. "I’m glad you’ve found peace here," she said, her tone even. No one was more deserving than her spirit sister. "I cannot say the same for myself quite yet."

the stars above reflected in her eyes, distant and untouchable, much like the memories of what they once had. the kingdom that had torn them both down, piece by piece, lingered like a specter in the space between them.

the game of thrones, she murmured, her voice low and steady, though it carried the weight of what they had lost. it left nothing but ruin in its wake. it took everything, gjalla. my children, my title, my home. her words were not bitter, but there was no masking the sorrow that lived in them.

her gaze flicked briefly to her own belly, a subtle shift in her posture as if to shield the life growing within her. but here, she said softly, her tone laced with a fragile kind of hope, here i have been given a second chance.

she turned back to gjalla, the corners of her lips lifting into a faint, bittersweet smile. i cannot give up this chance, she admitted, the resolve in her voice undeniable. not after everything.

she reached out gently, brushing her muzzle against her spirit sister’s shoulder, a grounding touch meant to remind her that she wasn’t alone. and neither should you, she added, her tone firm but kind. the seven guided you here. with me, whatever it meant—you are here now. and there is still time to find your peace.

with that, she let the silence fall between them again, her gaze returning to the stars, the faintest flicker of a promise lingering in the cool night air.

Gjalla didn’t respond right away. She sat still, her broad shoulders rigid, though her eyes betrayed the storm within. The stars above seemed sharper now, their cold light cutting through the darkness like shards of glass. Distant, untouchable—like everything else she’d left behind. Like the memories of what they’d once had.

"The game of thrones," Gjalla echoed, her voice quieter, rougher. "It ruins everything it touches."

Her gaze flicked to Morwenna’s belly, and for a brief moment, the sharp edges in her expression softened. That flicker of hope, that fragile promise growing within her spirit sister. The promise of change. She envied it, in a way.

Her ears twitched as she felt the gentle brush of Morwenna’s muzzle against her shoulder, a touch that tethered her to the moment. Gjalla sighed, a sound that carried the weight of years of unspoken grief. "You’re right," she said, though her voice was low, uncertain. ""doesn’t mean I know what to do with it."

Her eyes met Morwenna’s then, the faintest trace of vulnerability breaking through the cold mask she wore. "There is peace with you," the princess mused idly, words falling from her tongue in the calmest fashion. "With the stars."

Gjalla’s gaze lifted once more to the blanket of darkness overhead. The breeze carried the scent of salt and earth, faint traces of a home long lost. And for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she allowed herself to wonder if there was still something left to find. Something worth reaching for. "Perhaps that is all I need, for now."

star eater's ears swiveled as gjalla spoke, each word a testament to the weight the woman bore. but morwenna's expression did not falter; instead, a warm flicker of approval danced across her features. her tail swayed softly behind her, brushing against the snow.
it is settled then! her voice carried a rare brightness, a resolve that felt contagious. come, i will show you my nest.
she stood, shaking the frost from her dark pelt, the stars glinting off her fur like scattered diamonds. as she began to move, she glanced back over her shoulder, a teasing smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. though, sun eater insists on building me a snow shelter, she admitted with a soft chuckle, the affection for her husband clear in her tone. it is temporary, for now.
pausing for a moment, she turned to meet gjalla's gaze fully. and while i show you the children's pelts, i can teach you some of our chieftain's words. they are harsh on the tongue but beautiful in meaning. her eyes gleamed with the promise of something more—a future that, for the first time, felt less like a distant hope and more like a tangible reality.

Gjalla blinked, momentarily caught off guard by Morwenna’s sudden shift in tone. The brightness in her voice felt almost foreign against the solemnity of their conversation, but it was infectious in its way, tugging at the corners of Gjalla’s heart. Her ears swiveled toward her spirit sister, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a faint smirk broke through the stoicism of her features.

“A snow shelter,” she echoed incredulously, her voice carrying a faint note of dry amusement. “I imagine he’d build you a fortress if you let him.” Gjalla rose slowly, her limbs stiff from the cold, but she shook off the frost with a practiced grace. The movement sent a small flurry of snow drifting around her, catching the faint starlight.

The mention of children’s pelts stirred something bittersweet in her chest—a flicker of the life she might have had, of the pups she had once imagined herself raising under Stormrift’s skies. She shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on Morwenna’s steady presence and the promise woven into her words.

“Most of what I say is harsh,” Gjalla tilted her head, her smirk softening into something closer to curiosity. “it should be no challenge.”

As she followed, her gaze lingered briefly on the woman’s swaying tail, her pelt shimmering in the starlight like a tapestry of shadows and silver. There was something grounding about her spirit sister’s resilience, her ability to carve out a new life amidst the ruins of their past.

“Lead the way,” Gjalla murmured, her voice quieter now, though it carried a note of something unspoken. Hope, perhaps, or the cautious beginnings of acceptance.