Little Goat Mountain eyetooth

They had moved with a swiftness he had appreciated. Each step brought him closer to Mae—some internal part of him still clinging to the hope of a decent outcome. That not only had she healed quickly, but had not been further afflicted with mistrust after the incident. It was a pipe dream—he knew this—his dark daughter had never trusted even before the attack of the sea wolf… He could not imagine she ever would again.

Eivor’s voice broke the small silence that had stretched between them—his gaze shifting to her and catching upon the stretch of an arm—a motion not derived of leisure, but one surely of a building ache. His first thought was to ask her if she required anything—to care.

His second thought came with jolting clarity that to care, it seemed, was foolish.

It was unfortunate that Eivor was on the receiving end of this bitter tempest that brewed within him, even if she did not realize it yet.

He acquiesced with a nod—though his eyes fell upon the gentle shift of something not far off. He recalled Arric in that moment—and one of the favorite meals of his friend.

“How do you feel about a goat to satisfy your hunger?”

He did not wait for an answer—indicating she should continue upward, and he would find her shortly. His own dark form flickered into the shadows—the skirting path of a predator who was not leaving without his prey.