Qeya River ghosts

Gjalla woke with a sharp inhale, body rigid and damp with sweat. The shadows of her dreams clung to her like frost, sharp and biting, but she forced them down. Another night, another battle fought in her sleep. She jolted upright, forcing the haze from her head.

The den was quiet, save for the faint creak of the wind against the gnarled branches. She rubbed a paw over her face, breathing deeply, grounding herself. It didn’t help much. The memories still clawed at the edges of her mind. Spilled blood and gnashing teeth, the scent of iron still stung her nose, but she refused to let them win. Not now, not ever.

She stood and stretched, her movements slow and deliberate. The cold air bit at her fur, but it was grounding in a way the silence wasn’t. There was a long day ahead, and she wasn’t about to let a few ghosts stop her.

blackfell had already been on his way, a plump hare dangling limp from his jaws. long legs carried him with hefty strides, crimson eyes floating about the treeline where her den lay.

she was emerging from the mouth of her den when he first saw her, looking the picture perfect stormcloud that she often was. a familiar sight; one he was used to in her, by now. she was quite a brooding woman.

he closed the distance, coming up behind her right flank where he brushes nose against her raven fur. the reaction was instant. she stiffened, and he could almost feel her hackles rise. a low chuckle rumbled in his chest as he pulled back, sharp enough to avoid any snapping teeth. he liked her fire; he’d always liked it.

then, he shoved the hare against her shoulder, speaking through clenched teeth.

breakfast.

Gjalla barely acknowledged him at first, her focus elsewhere, eyes distant as though she were scanning the treeline for something—or someone. The metallic scent of blood still lingered in her nostrils, vile enough to make her stomach turn. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to the present.

A wet nose brushed against her fur, and she nearly jolted, ears snapping back as she whipped her head to glare at him over her shoulder, lips curling just enough to ward him off.

Her gaze dropped to the hare he pressed against her, its limp form a contrast to the vivid violence that still lingered in her mind. She stared at it for a moment before her eyes flicked back to him, narrowing slightly as she studied his expression.

“Generous,” She muttered. Her tone was edged, but it lacked the full force of her usual bite. The woman nudged the hare with her paw but didn’t reject it entirely, the gesture just shy of gratitude.

i can be, he replies with a knowing smirk, tail swishing, ears rounding as he still surveils for noises around them. ever the constant sentinel.

her movements, her glance, the way her tension rippled just beneath her fur—something was clearly bothering the woman. like any good prospective husband, the man leans forwards, head turning to catch a better angle of her face as the two of them fall into stride together.

thought you might need it. you look like you’ve seen a ghost.

Gjalla’s ears twitched, though she bit back her immediate response. Her eyes stayed forward, amber gaze fixed on the forest ahead as if she could will away whatever lingered in her mind. His comment drew a faint scoff from her, though the sound was more weary than derisive.

“Generous and observant, how quaint,” she muttered, matching her pace to his. Her tail swayed behind her in a restrained flick—she didn’t push him away, but she didn’t soften, either. 

“Dreams,” she finally admitted, voice clipped, as if the word itself was a concession. She kept her focus on the path, refusing to meet his gaze despite his attempts to catch hers.

he hums low in his throat while he follows at her side like a loyal dog.

bad ones? he guessed. he didn’t need her confirmation; the tension in her shoulders, the way her tone clipped at the edges, told him enough.

he glanced at her again, testing the waters, the edge of his smirk tempered by something unreadable. you think too much, gjalla. you should eat. it helps. the barest flicker of humor laced his tone, but it was clear he wasn’t jesting entirely. the hare remained hers, a quiet offering he wouldn’t take back.

gjalla’s lip curled faintly at his remark, a fleeting show of annoyance. “you’ve got an answer for everything, don’t you?” she grumbled. 

her gaze shifted to the hare for a moment, tongue sliding over her canines. a begrudging sigh slipped past her teeth before she paused, angling her head to his before scooping up its hindlegs between her teeth. still warm.

a little ways ahead was a fallen treetrunk braced against the window. she could eat there. "come."