Qeya River draw a line in the sand

Gjalla’s ear twitched at his words, the faintest flicker of a smirk ghosting across her lips before vanishing into the cold. She didn’t miss the satisfaction in his voice, nor the way his eyes lingered, testing her patience as if daring her to rise to his bait. 

“You’ve an odd way of asking for an ass-kicking,” she retorted, voice low and smooth, carrying none of the indulgence he sought. Her gaze remained fixed ahead, her stride steady, though her tail flicked with a trace of irritation. "If it’s Ice Diver you’re worried about, then you’d do well to keep your tongue in check."

Still, his remark about the river gave her pause. She glanced toward it, watching the glint of light off its frozen edges. It was beautiful in its desolation, the kind of beauty only winter could conjure—unyielding, stark, and unforgiving. 

“It’s not just pretty,” she said after a beat, her tone softening marginally, though her sharp edge remained. “It’s life. Everything here depends on that flow.”

Her gaze cut back to him, pinning him with a pointed look. “You’d do well to learn that. This place doesn’t give second chances.” It was both a warning and a truth, her words carrying the kind of conviction that left no room for argument.