Overture Downs not my friend but i wont say no

For a moment, Gjalla’s expression did not falter, though something flickered behind her eyes—too quick to discern, too stubborn to linger. The huntsman’s words hung like frost in the air between them, sharp enough to scrape against the quiet. She did not answer at first, letting silence deepen while she collected her thoughts. Her gaze flicked over him as if assessing him for a second—third?—time.

Finally, she spoke, unhurried but pointed, like the measured draw of a bowstring. “Enough isn’t what I’ve ever aimed for.” she repeated, the word heavy with doubt, the faintest edge of bitterness curling around its syllables. “It’s what you settle for when the fire’s gone out.” It was a cold truth, a harsh one, though she wasn’t certain that he needed it most.

When he chuckled—dry, dismissive—it grated against the silence, and she found her irritation pricking at her, threatening to boil over. Yet she kept it at bay, sharpening her words instead. “Your work might be a fine companion, but I doubt it’s good at conversation.” Her smirk was faint, a glimmer of mockery.

“Enough is a word for the contented. The comfortable. Wolves who don’t need to keep moving.” she continued, her tone measured. Her shoulders rolled back with quiet ease, but her gaze had not softened. If anything, it burned colder, like frost forming along the edges of a blade. She had stepped closer now, her figure cutting a dark line against the pale mist. Not too close—never too close—but just enough that the distance between them seemed to hum with tension. Her voice takes a lower tone, then. Intimate. “Are you comfortable, beast?”