Qeya River gnashing teeth

ef ég verð að byrja sem pakkafélagi, svo sé það, he said simply, his tone stripped of its usual edge. ég mun vinna fyrir það. fyrir þig.

with that, he exhaled a long breath, crimson eyes shifting to the storm beyond the cave. the sleet pelted the ground with relentless ferocity. when he spoke again, it was now in the common tongue. looks like we’re stuck here for the night, he says. might as well get comfy.

he rises to his paws, onyx frame moving toward the entrance of the cave. there, he settled, his silhouette a dark sentinel against the fury of the storm.

fade