Blackfeather Woods Angel of small death

her question hung in the air, but he didn’t respond—not with words, at least. instead, he let out a low huff, the sound somewhere in an acknowledgment, sharp in the cold stillness around them.

his posture shifted slightly, weight rolling onto his back legs as if ready to move, yet he lingered, his eyes meeting hers with an intensity that bordered on invasive. there was no pity in his stare, no softness, just a stark assessment, as if he were calculating her worth in silence.

roan’s tail flicked once behind him, a wordless gesture that seemed to carry a challenge: show me. prove it. but still, he said nothing, letting the tension between them stretch thin like ice over a frozen lake.