Otatso Wetlands wet feet

He growled, and though the hatred wasn’t hers to bear, it bristled against her nonetheless. The tension between them thickened as he straightened to his full height, the air between their words freezing colder than the frostbitten ground beneath their paws. 

Her lips twitched in a sneer. "That's because I didn't mean Rhaegon," she replied evenly, though her voice was quieter now, steadier. "We haven’t crossed my path in moons. If we had, I’d have left him with more than frostbite in my wake."

But his next words struck closer, the sharp edge of his question cutting deeper than she expected. Her tail stiffened, her head lowering just slightly, as if under the weight of his scrutiny. The truth lingered on her tongue like bile—hard, bitter, and impossible to swallow. 

"She’s with the Saatsine." Gjalla said finally. Far from *him.* And yet, as the words left her, the hollowness that followed felt damning. Safe. Safe at the cost of everything Gjalla had known, her purpose, her drive, her tether. "I can take you."