Qeya River draw a line in the sand

blackfell stirred at her voice, his ears twitching before he lifted his head from his paws. his crimson gaze found her immediately, a sharp glare paired with folded, discontented ears.

with a grumble and a huff, blackfell was to his paws, but not without a stretch first. chest lowering to the snow-packed ground, brushing the cold, welcoming the nip it brought with it. gjalla was already moving, content to leave him behind; and a knowing smirk settles on the man's grim face.

his gaze flicked toward her as they walked, taking in the rigid line of her shoulders, the purposeful set of her stride. she hadn’t softened, not one bit. good. he preferred her sharp edges.

with long strides, it doesn't take long to catch up with the spitfire. sliding up to her side, cocking his head to look at her. warming up to me? he asks.