The Wall Toome

you are strong. good hunter. sincere, perhaps, but he knew better than to let them linger too long in his mind. strength was fleeting, a thing as easily torn down as built up. he’d seen it before—wolves with all the power in the world brought low by a single, well-placed strike.

loyalty, though. loyalty endured.

he huffed softly, a sound neither dismissive nor accepting, but somewhere in between. strength can fail, he said plainly, his voice low and rough like the snow-churned winds around them. what matters is who stays when it does.

his gaze dropped briefly to the carcass, then back to her, his expression unreadable. she was a creature of pride and caution, her edges sharp but her hunger sharper. it fascinated him, though he would not admit it—not yet.

where do you plan to go? he asked after a beat, his tone gruff but curious. when this is gone. he gestured faintly toward the carcass, the question heavy with implication.

he wanted her to stay. not because of her flattery or her sharpness, but because the idea of her leaving unsettled something deep within him, something he couldn’t yet name.