Larksong Grotto sleeping dog beside you

Family.

The word itself was an ache, a phantom tether to a life she had clawed her way out of. Her tail gave a sharp flick, dismissing whatever flicker of sentiment might have passed through her.

“Muradoii do not follow,” she growled, her voice low and deliberate. “They fight. They take. If family comes here, it is not for me. It is for the hunt.”

She shifted her weight, her scarred shoulders rolling. “Cragblood was my family. Not just blood, but my wolves. My raiders. My hunters. That is gone now. Lost to sea and snow.” Her tone didn’t waver.

“Family is weakness,” she said bluntly, the words sharp as claws. “Muradoii do not cling. We kill. We survive. Anything else? Waste of breath.” Though she spoke harshly, it droned as if practiced. As if it were merely something she had told herself time and time again. Burned into her brain. Not truly believed.

She tilted her head slightly, studying Nanuralaaq with an unreadable expression, her crimson eyes glinting like embers. “You? You think your family comes for you?” There was no mockery in her voice, only a blunt curiosity.