Jade Fern Grove to be a star you must burn

Blackfell’s ears flicked at her words, the sharp edge of her tone cutting through the stillness like the snap of a brittle branch. He didn’t turn back immediately, didn’t acknowledge her jab about the nomads stealing his lunch, though the faintest twitch of his lips betrayed some amusement he refused to show her. Instead, he kept walking towards the river stream, his heavy paws pressing into the moss with deliberate force.

Her final quip, however, made him stop. His shoulders stiffened, the tension rolling through his broad frame as he turned his head just enough to glance at her over his shoulder.

His gaze dropped briefly, sweeping over her in a way that wasn’t mocking but wasn’t exactly kind, either. “Nomads,” he muttered, his tone dripping with disdain as he spat the word. “They don’t build anything. They don’t stay. They drift, same as the wind. You think they’ll give you purpose? A place? They’ll leave you behind the second it suits them.”

His claws flexed against the moss, and he took a half step back, shaking his head like he was trying to dislodge the weight of the conversation. “But go ahead. Make your mistake. Doesn’t matter to me.” He started to turn away again but hesitated, his ears swiveling back toward her.

“Just don’t pretend you’re above it all,” he muttered, quieter this time, though no less sharp. “You’ll care. Sooner or later, you’ll care.”