Qeya River [m] ghosts

gjalla froze mid-bite, her jaws pausing over the hare’s flank. her eyes cut to him, sharp as the frost around them. she swallowed deliberately, the motion slow as if buying herself a moment to decide whether or not she’d even entertain the question.

when she finally spoke, her voice was cold, clipped. the subject was a raw wound, and even after two years, she wasn’t eager to let him prod at it. “i didn’t want to get married. what does it matter?”