Qeya River time for dying

stærk’s breathing is a ragged staccato, his chest heaving as he fights to stay upright. the sting of his sister’s voice blinds him—he submits. they twist like knives in his gut, a final betrayal from the one he’d thought would never turn against him.

get out.

he looks death in the face then, and takes stumbling steps backwards. resisting every urge to collapse into the snow and succumb to wounds.

he coughs, spitting blood into the snow. forsaken, he thinks. by family, by blood, by home.

soon he is gone. leaving morwenna to her false life. hate brewing in an already calloused heart.