Qeya River draw a line in the sand

blackfell’s scoff broke through the stillness, a sound sharp enough to cut the frost-heavy air. his lip curled in a fleeting sneer, and he turned his head just enough to glance at her, the light catching the faint scar across his snout.

you think i just sat on my ass like your ex-fiancé? the words carried a biting edge, his tone low but steady, each syllable deliberately weighted. his shoulders rolled as he strode beside her, muscles shifting beneath his dark pelt like the steady churn of a glacier.

he jerked his head toward the horizon, his crimson gaze briefly scanning the treeline before settling back on the river. i’m northern, princess, he added, voice gruff but laced with a quiet pride. not afraid of the taiga.