Whitebark Stream the black sea

sivaak's muzzle twitches, the faintest curl of her lips. his words are a jab meant to sting, and for a moment, she considers ending their sparring with blood instead of words.

but she knows to not let her temper get the best of her. at least, not right now. not with this man.

the sea does not turn, she answers with a stern scoff, the faintest curl of her top lip upwards as she appraises the black scar. we are wolves who thrive where others die. i live as my ancestors did, but walk where i please. the sea does not bind me any longer.

a half truth. she will not yet reveal the slaughter she knows. the disgrace she had been made. the fall of tuur’aq akł’un is hers to tell, if time comes.

she huffs, offering a small dip of her bloodied head, a twisted smile upon her face. your turn, black scar. tell sivaak something. let me see if you are more than the stories.