The Sunspire said that i was fine, said it from my coffin

The air was crisp, mountain-cold and clean, filling her lungs with a chill that was as much a comfort as it was a challenge. Around her, the world lay quiet, the valley below dipped in shadow, only faintly illuminated by a wash of starlight. The gentle rise she’d climbed was forgiving before they gave to the sharper, unforgiving teeth of the mountain, its treacherous paths barely marked, save by a scattering of rocks and spindly trees clinging to the crags.

She had no real intention of braving those paths tonight, but her gaze traced their path nonetheless. It had been some time since she’d felt the thrill of danger, and in the quiet of the night, she found her mind restless. Morwenna was somewhere nearby—or maybe not, she didn't remember. Gjalla had slipped away as soon as the stars appeared. Solitude had always been her solace, a balm to the storm that churned inside her.

She settled down on a rocky outcrop, cold stone pressed against her belly. A rare, soft smile ghosted across her lips as she tilted her head back to drink in the stars. Here, she wasn’t bound to anything—no duty, no struggle. Here, she was simply herself, and the night knew her as she was.

A quiet exhale, and she closed her eyes briefly, feeling the vastness above her and the grounding solidity beneath. For a fleeting moment, she could believe that this was all she needed: the stars, the solitude, and the steady silence of the mountain that would never ask anything of her.

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all welcome

The wild girl hunted. 

Two green eyes were watching the woman.
Peering through the brush and slits of stone. Blond and white fur dotted in leaves and sticks. Bundle in mouth filled with its array of trinkets and trophies. Different rocks, this time around. 

She wasn't sure if they should kill her.

Maybe another sick one. So, Nutuyikruk looked carefully for white foam and red eyes on the dark furred figure. There were no strange looking cuts or twitching muscles. 

A calmness that she drank for a time, drawing nearer, hiding. 

A faint rustle, almost indistinguishable from the whispers of the breeze through the underbrush, broke her trance. Without so much as a shift in her posture, she allowed her gaze to subtly drift downward, sharpening as she looked for the source. Her instincts told her she was not alone.

Gjalla’s breath stilled, her senses attuning to the quiet around her as she scanned the shadows. Movement caught her eye: two green, intent eyes nestled in the brush. With careful, practiced calm, she shifted, turning just enough to show she’d noticed them but not so much as to spook her observer. The slightest glint of something between those green eyes—a bundle, clutched and half-hidden, haphazardly gathered.

The air lacked the edge of immediate threat—no better time to call them out, she supposed. "Are you planning to keep hiding there? Or is there something you’re after?" Her words, gentle but pointed; firm. An invitation and a warning in one.