spit out your pride and lay yourself bare

Gjalla

Gjalla felt the air shift as Blackfell’s fury broke over her, like an avalanche crashing down with every word, every movement. Her fangs gleamed in the pale light as weight slammed into her, knocking her to the cold ground for a second time. Words fell from the brute's mouth like rounds of bile, each more emotional than the last.

With a feral snarl, she squirmed beneath him, suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Her claws scraped across his chest, tearing at him with a sudden surge of violence. The strike to his snout had been a warning, flesh catching on her canine until it spilled scarlet. Her claws dug into his shoulders in an attempt to leverage herself as his weight pressed down. The blood on her chest—his blood—was nothing but another scar, another mark she would wear proudly until she lapped it away.

He shoved against her in retaliation, sending them both tumbling to the ground in a violent clash, Gjalla didn't yield. No, instead, she seized the opportunity, twisting the fight in her favor. With a sudden, powerful roll, she flipped him over, her weight forcing him onto his back, head thudding against the snow. Her chest heaved as she straddled him, breath ragged, her face inches from his, the force of her glare as cold as the northern winds.

Blackfell’s curse barely registered; her ears buzzed with the sound of her blood roaring through her veins, of rage and triumph colliding in a dangerous whirlwind. Her teeth bared as she leaned down, her shadow eclipsing him like the gathering of dark clouds before a blizzard. “Fuck me?” she repeated, a growl so cold it could freeze marrow. Overgrown claws flexed into the snow beside his head. “No, Blackfell. Fuck you.”

Her voice was quiet now, dangerously so, each word carrying the weight of a tempest barely held in check. “You don’t get to bleed your grief over me and act like I haven’t bled just as much.” She hated him for the way he clawed at her composure, for the way his words and presence struck the buried parts of her she wanted to keep hidden. Hated him, but in the same breath, she understood him in a way that made her insides twist. A pity she sympathized with.

Her claws flexed against the ground, her lips trembling as the storm inside her threatened to spill over. “—and you will live. Your self-pity will get you nowhere.” she snarled, quieter now, the fire of her anger dimming into smoldering embers. “You’re not the only one who’s had to suffer and start over.”

And with that, she shoved off him, her claws scraping his shoulders as she side-stepped his body. Her breath was uneven, her chest rising and falling as the adrenaline coursed through her veins, but she didn’t waver.

"Now get up." She growled, her eyes narrowing. "What are you even doing here?"