Jade Fern Grove white lines, pretty baby

this is post is basically word vomit and i'm sleep deprived so i apologize if it makes no sense, ahaha. xD

If Wardruna’s patience is a dashboard full of big, red, inviting buttons the woman does not seem to harbor any qualms about pressing all of them and the thinner his patience grows, the hotter his rage seethes and boils. Quickly, furiously, like water that’s at the very cusp of the pot about to boil over at any given moment. It occurs to the northerner that she has no idea the raw nerve she has exposed — how could she? — but that does not cool the heat that rises beneath his pelt, that does not soothe the stinging that the lash of her tongue leaves him with. Without much reason or any inclination of understanding from Wardruna, her ignorance only enrages him more. It is not fair …but he has learned the very harsh lesson in life that nothing is ever, at all, fair. “Are you?” He tempers his ire, somehow, expelling it in sharp wit and cruel hiss of the question he briskly returns to her without pause, in the moment it takes for her to finish on a breath and for him to draw one in. He takes a step into the river: a test to see how deep his leg sinks beneath it’s surface: to see if he can feel solid earth beneath the water. Pebbles stir and float around his paw as it touches upon the earth with the contradicting heaviness and weightlessness that water creates.

Wardruna has found solid ground: he knows the depth of the river that separates them and there is little to nothing keeping him on his side now except for her next words, hopefully, he thinks, to be chosen with care ( his body language suggests as such: that feral twitch that warns to tread with caution ) because he feels the familiar itch now. The preliminary exhilaration of a prospect chase and the impending possibility of a potential victory. It hinders on the precarious balance of a knife blade: thin and deadly.

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