Qeya River my head says i never should've left

he doesn’t flinch under the war chief’s glare, doesn’t bristle or snap. his tail lowers slightly. when he finally speaks, his voice is calm, rough, but lacking any trace of deference beyond what was absolutely necessary.

with all due respect, this is a personal matter.

and just like that, ice diver is gone from his focus, his crimson gaze shifting back to gjalla, locking onto hers like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. his breath hitches slightly, his frustration rolling off him in waves as his tail sinks lower, hanging limp near his hocks. he lets out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders sagging, his posture deflating into something close to defeat.

he leans in until his nose brushes against her ear, if she allows it. a touch fleeting, hesitant. his voice, when it comes, is low and stiff, a harsh whisper meant only for her.

i'm sorry, gjalla. the words taste bitter on his tongue, but he forces them out, his breath brushing her fur as he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes again. he doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink, waiting for her to do... something. anything. his pride is a heavy thing to swallow.