Qeya River my head says i never should've left

he can only huff in response and endure her lashings. though he does rise to his full height, bristling before her, though crimson eyes hold a solemn softness reserved only for her. he regrets what was said between the both of them. would he say that? no.

when she finishes, he responds with the lash of his tail and a few steps closer, coming to her, shoulder to shoulder, dropping his gaze and turning his head to look down at her past a scarred snout.

im not here to argue, gjalla. he grumbles, before scanning eyes across their surroundings. only her, so far. he looks back to her. into those periwinkle eyes, upon her beautiful face. a man devoted to a chase he was losing.

when he speaks again, his voice is quieter but no less gruff. we both made some assumptions... he trails off, head tilting, eyes casting away as if trying to find the words. this was just fucking awkward. he wasn't a man who apologized. he wouldn't! but no doubt the raven woman would find a way to drag one out of him before this was said and done.

he's full of pride, and it will be the end of him. through gritted teeth: i have no one else. nowhere else.