Qeya River gnashing teeth

knew you’d see sense, he called over his shoulder, voice gruff with exertion as the wind clawed at his fur, pulling at him like some unseen force determined to drag him back. the sleet pelted his scarred face, sharp as needles, but he pressed on, each step carving through the treacherous terrain.

he tilted his head slightly, voice cutting through the chaos. shelter’s close, he said, motioning toward the dark mouth of a cave that loomed ahead, partially obscured by the storm’s wrath.

he turned his head, scanning the storm-torn landscape beyond. even in a fury of wind and ice, his paranoia was present. only when he was satisfied did he step inside, his heavy paws crunching over the frosted ground.

his crimson eyes found her, hunched near the far wall like a cornered predator, her body taut with anger and defiance. as if being stowed away in a cave with him was the worst thing to have ever happened to her.

he chooses to ignore her dramatics, like any good man would. instead, he says: talk to me, gjalla.

he moved closer. closing the gap between them until his bulk stood before her, blocking her and the exit entirely. i only want to be here, he said. stop letting that stubborn head push me away.