Starglow Basin Hawk of may

osiel's broad presence fills the den, his voice heavy and his eyes relentless as they rest on her. saya does not falter beneath his scrutiny, though the pain simmers beneath her skin like the heat of the desert.

estoy bien, she says firmly, though the scent of thyme cannot mask the tang of blood.

her voice is low, deliberate, like the grinding of stone. she shifts slightly, straightening her posture despite the ache, a subtle defiance in her lean frame.

they are just wounds, she adds, her crimson gaze locking onto his with unwavering resolve.

nothing that will stop me.

there is no softness here, no invitation for pity. only the sharp edge of pride, a blade she wields as fiercely as her body bears the marks of survival.