Broken Antler Fen grow back your sharpest teeth

They’d been seen. Machi felt it in the shift of air, the telltale pause in the world’s rhythm. His paw slid back a half step, instinct guiding him into the shadows where the foliage clung closer, darker. His ears flattened against his skull as the figure drew near, but it was not a cultist that had found them. No, there were no cries for Godsmouth, no call for vengeance.

Just Meseba.

He didn’t follow Eset as she crossed the space, her name called out like a fishing line to pull them together. No, the dog stayed where the light couldn’t touch him, his pale eyes trained on the reunion with an intensity that bordered on predatory, only to break and roll in annoyance as the pair embraced.

How convenient, how exquisitely predictable. Meseba, bruised and battered, arriving on cue as if the gods themselves had written him into this moment. Was it divine providence or just the way of things, that Eset always seemed to draw her pieces back to her like some celestial force? Machi’s gaze lingered on the Hebsut, the way concern softened her features.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, seeing the sentry after all this time. Too much time. And wasn’t it hilarious, how he showed up now, now, just after Eset had appeared?

The half-breed shifted slightly, his nails digging into the soil beneath him. His gaze flicked briefly to the soft press of paw against cheek, and then away again, irritation carving itself deeper into the lines of his face.

For now, he stayed put, rooted to the shadows like a ghost too stubborn to move on, observing the scene playing out before him with all the grace of a decidedly grumpy, wet cat—watching, waiting, and incredibly unamused.