Qeya River my head says i never should've left

Gjalla didn’t recoil from his closeness, though her body tensed imperceptibly, every instinct telling her to brace for what came next. The soft brush of his nose against her ear was fleeting, almost cautious. His apology followed—a harsh whisper that seemed to claw its way out of him, as if the words themselves fought against his pride. The words he whispered felt heavier than they should’ve, sinking into her chest like stones dropped into a frozen river.

I’m sorry, Gjalla.

Good boy.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, searching for cracks in the pride that had always kept him shielded. It was there—a chink in the armor, a subtle but undeniable fracture. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice low. She stepped back, putting a fraction of space between them as she turned her head back toward Ice-Diver.

Gjalla finally spoke, her voice low and steady, though it carried a sharpness that matched the Chief’s. “You can rest easy, Ice-Diver. He is no threat,” she said, her gaze still locked with Blackfell’s. Her words weren’t an endorsement, not truly. They felt more like a challenge, a line drawn in the snow. “Staying, this time?”