Qeya River [m] ghosts

gjalla’s posture shifted ever so slightly at the mention, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. for once, her gaze softened to something tender, touched by wistful light.

“yes,” she admitted quietly, the word almost swallowed by the icy wind. Her claws flexed against the snow, as if anchoring herself to the present. “they were… everything. still are, i suppose.”

“you don’t pick your blood, but I wouldn’t have it any other way.” a rare, faint smile tugged at the corner of her lips, flickering like a fragile flame.

the hare at her paws was nearly finished at her paws when she got an idea, lifting from her spot to lope through the brush. "come."