Hideaway Strath in death's shadow

Qvasir returned silently, the weight of the small pronghorn heavy on his jaws, though it was nothing compared to the quiet determination in his stride. His approach was steady, deliberate, not wanting to startle Mictec in her vulnerable state. Her figure lay still against the ground, her breath slow and deliberate, and he allowed himself a moment to observe her before stepping closer.

He dropped the pronghorn near her, its still form evidence of a clean kill. His golden eyes met hers, unwavering, though softer than before. You’ll need this, he said simply, his voice a steady calm that carried no room for argument.

Qvasir’s gaze swept over her again, noting the faint glimmer of tears that clung to her dark fur, the way her body seemed to sink into the earth as if drawn to it. He didn’t press for an explanation, didn’t demand words—he simply nodded once, a quiet affirmation, before stepping back to give her space.

You take your time, he murmured, standing nearby as a silent guardian. But eat. Balance isn’t found on an empty stomach. His words carried a dry edge, but there was no jest in his intent.

He turned his head, scanning the horizon, keeping watch as she gathered her strength. A small gesture, but one that carried an unspoken promise: she was not alone in her rebirth.