Otatso Wetlands wet feet

stærk descends from the mountains, his paws cutting through the damp earth of the valley wetlands. the morning light is cold, biting at his exposed scars, but he pays it no mind.

each step sinks slightly into the marshy ground, the chill water clinging to his fur, slowing his pace more than he likes. his single eye narrows, focused on the horizon where dry land rises ahead.

quickening his stride, he pushes through the wet, eager to leave the clinging muck behind and press onward. another pack lies ahead, another set of ears to hear the words he carries. the task is simple enough—deliver the news of marriage, the union of @Solharr and @Callyope.

the simplicity of the task doesn’t make it less grating. this isn’t his fight, nor his duty by choice. yet here he is, trudging through unfamiliar lands, playing messenger for a pack that is not his own.

all in the name of debt.

Gjalla’s paws made no sound as she moved. She hated the quiet, she realized—not the peaceful kind that blanketed the world at dawn, but the suffocating stillness that came when life itself seemed to pause. It reminded her too much of the days spent wandering, of the hours she spent with her thoughts clawing at her resolve.

This land was foreign, but not strange. She’d seen a hundred places like it, places that offered little and took less, where survival boiled down to instinct and obligation. Aimless. The word prickled at her mind, as unwelcome as the cold water seeping between her toes. Her life with the Saatsine wolves, tied to Morwenna’s choice, felt much the same. A duty fulfilled, a promise kept, a bond maintained—but it offered little more than that. Gjalla had told herself it was enough. Had convinced herself that following Morwenna, guarding her happiness, was purpose enough to give her existence shape.

But standing here, watching ripples dance across the still waters as if stirred by some invisible force, Gjalla could not shake the hollowness in her chest.

What am I doing? The thought rose unbidden, as sharp as the icy air she breathed in. She frowned, her pale eyes scanning the reeds and brackish pools as if they might hold an answer. Of course, they didn’t. Answers weren’t something the world handed over easily, and Gjalla knew better than to expect them to come simply because she lingered long enough.

Her lips pressed into a thin line as her mind turned to Morwenna. Star-kissed and radiant, as steadfast as she was infuriatingly free. Morwenna had found her path, her place. Gjalla had watched her find it, watched her choose Sun Eater and the Saatsine way of life. And Gjalla? She had stayed because she had promised. Because Morwenna was her anchor in a sea of uncertainty.

But an anchor, she thought bitterly, also meant being tethered. Meant staying in place, stagnant, while the rest of the world drifted away. Although, it wasn't as if she had anything else to do.

Gjalla shook her head, her breath escaping in a soft huff. She wasn’t one to wallow—not for long, anyway. There was no use gnawing on old bones, no matter how much marrow they held. She turned her attention back to the wetlands, narrowing her eyes against the damp air as she scanned the horizon. The reeds swayed in the distance, and she could just make out the ghostly silhouette of another.