Jade Fern Grove to be a star you must burn

Blackfell’s lips twitched into something caught between a smirk and a grimace as her words rang like the final toll of a bell.

So am I.

His fern eyes followed her as she moved. She carried herself like she’d always had a crown just out of reach, even now, even here, wading through the creek like it was hers to command.

“Friend and some nomads,” he echoed. He tilted his head, his gaze narrowing as he watched her shake the water from her paws. “Sounds quaint. Bet they’ll love that sunny disposition of yours.”


Blackfell didn’t look away, didn’t soften the edge of his challenge. He wasn’t waiting for her to prove him wrong—he wasn’t that foolish. But he was waiting, nonetheless, to see what kind of woman she’d decide to be.

"Nomads." He repeated it, again, with a louder scoff this time, turning with a vicious cold shoulder. "You're making a mistake."