Qeya River draw a line in the sand

Gjalla’s ears flick at the absence of his footsteps, her pace faltering as an edge of irritation creeps into her chest. She halts, sharp against the expanse of snow, and turns to face him, the cold blue of her eyes narrowing with a question before she even speaks. The sight of him standing there, watching her with that unshakable, impenetrable gaze, forces the words to stall on her tongue.

For a heartbeat, she stares, her confusion eclipsed only by the disbelief that follows when he finally speaks.

'I came for you.'

Her first instinct is to laugh—not out of humor, but the sheer absurdity of it. The words catch her like a stone in her throat, making her stiffen as though struck. For a moment, she can only blink at him, uncomprehending, as though his statement is some poorly veiled jest meant to provoke her temper.

“You—what?” she stammers, her voice cutting through the stillness like an unsteady blade. But then he steps closer, snow beneath his paws crunching softly but reverberating like thunder in her ears.

'You're the moon, the stars, the night sky itself.'

Her breath catches, though she barely allows it to show. Confusion swells into something heavier, twisting in her chest like a coil pulled too tight. She looks at him like he’s gone mad—crimson eyes aflame with something raw and unyielding, something that makes her heart fall into her ribs.

“You’re out of your mind,” she mutters, shaking her head as though to dismiss his words from existence. “This isn’t—what the hell are you on about?”