Qeya River my head says i never should've left

his crimson gaze held steady, tracing the lines of her posture and the proud lift of her head. this woman didn’t mince words, didn’t soften them for comfort. fine by him.

his tail flicked once, dismissive, as his eyes shifted to gjalla. he spoke up, then, crimson stare passing over ice diver. i’m not afraid to work. a grunt, then, ears twitching.

staying wasn’t some concession to their whims—it was a choice he’d already made the moment he turned back for her. the caribou hunter title? fine. he’d wear it, so long as it meant keeping her in his line of sight.

just tell me what i need to do, he said, voice clipped.