Sunset Valley Torn

for @Blackfell, after Gjalla heat

the sky hung low and bruised with the coming storm.
morwenna stood just beyond the lip of the den, where earth gave way to stone and the scent of crushed moss clung thick to her limbs. behind her, the world was quiet. the pups, bellies full, lay tangled in milk-warm sleep. ishmira rested curled near the back wall, breath even, while other shore slumbered beside her with her chin resting lightly atop one of the babes.
[inent]outside, all was still—save for her.
she did not pace. pacing betrayed unrest. instead, morwenna stood rooted, tall as a sentinel, and let the weight of the evening wrap around her shoulders. gjalla’s heart. it echoed, throbbed like a bruise she could not press without flinching. this was wrong. this—whatever this was between her and blackfell—was not what gjalla deserved.
but gjalla did not know.
and still, morwenna had called him here.
the wind curled around her ankles. somewhere in the hush of trees, a raven muttered. blackfell would come soon.

---

— a phantom in the dusk, smelling of pinesap and heat and a woman not yet forgotten.

there is no pride in it.

his body is taut with tension—sated, but not softened. not where she is concerned. not where gjalla sleeps far behind him, breath still tangled in his fur.

he should not be here.

and yet—

you called for me,

i did.
morwenna’s voice was low, but not cold—worn through like fabric pulled too tight for too long. she stood with her body turned slightly from him, head high, as if the scent on him hadn’t already said everything. it clung like the heat of a dying fire. gjalla.
morwenna did not flinch.
but she did not smile either.
i was a fool, she said softly, words shaped with dignity and ache both. to tempt a man bound in another’s bed. to think myself above such things.
she breathed once—deep, steady—before turning her gaze to him, frost meeting coal.
my sister, and here, the word cracked just faintly, deserves a husband. not a shadow. not a ghost who haunts my mouth while she sleeps beside him.
a pause. a decision settled in her spine.
what you’ve done… makes this easier.
not kinder.
not cleaner.
just clear.

---

— he does not speak at first.

each word she unspools is another notch driven into his ribs. her voice—gods, her voice. he could endure wounds to the body, but not this.

then be done with me, he says finally. he steps forward once, then twice—but not close enough to touch. he does not look at her mouth. not at her eyes.

she needs me.

morwenna’s breath left her in a sigh, heavy as dusk. it curled from her lips like something final. her eyes did not meet his at first—not because she was ashamed, but because she knew if she looked at him, she might falter. and there could be no faltering in this.
she needs you, she said quietly, the words a verdict more than a plea. and i will not stand in her way.
her gaze lifted now, steady and regal, the weight of woman and mother and something older—the queen who had lost everything and still stood. her face was composed, but it cost her. it always had.
gjalla loves with her whole heart. she believes in you. she believes in forever. and that belief deserves to be honored.
a pause, where the ache crept up her spine like a blade.
what we had—what might have been—cannot live in the same breath as what she dreams of. it would rot from the inside. it would break her.
she stepped back, just once.
not retreating. releasing.
you belong with her, morwenna said, quieter now, and yet it rang like a closing gate. and i will not be the woman who ruins her sister’s heart.
she turned before he could see the ruin in her own.