Swiftcurrent Creek when the moon sang,

Gjalla’s ears swiveled slightly at Morwenna’s words, her eyes narrowing in thought as she processed the unexpected confession. The Caribou Hunters—the Saatsine. She had heard whispers of them, though nothing weighty enough to make a judgement outright.

It made sense, in a way, that Morwenna would find herself drawn to them. The quiet restlessness she carried, like a storm waiting for release, had always hinted at something greater—something more untamed—lurking beneath her composure. Gjalla remained silent for a moment, the weight of Morwenna’s words settling between them like freshly fallen snow.

Her pale gaze drifted toward the entrance of the den, where the wind whispered through the trees, as if searching for an answer among the shadows. “Wildness calls to those who feel caged,” she said finally, her voice steady but laced with understanding. “If the creek is stifling, I do not see why you could not try.”

She shifted slightly, the warmth of her body brushing against Morwenna’s as she turned her gaze to meet the other woman’s moonlit eyes. There was no judgment in her expression, only quiet contemplation and a trace of something softer—concern, perhaps. “It is certainly.. sudden. What has changed?” Her question hung in the air, sharp yet gentle, like the first breath of frost in the morning. Gjalla’s gaze lingered on Morwenna, searching for the truth behind her words, her heart steady but braced for whatever answer might come.