Snowforest Taiga breathing fire

blood splashed upon them both, gjalla spoke of a brother who had already once murdered. again came the stab of anger: he should be dead, ravens plucking flesh from the very socket of his eyes.

"he will come back." it was not a question; sun eater saw the trueness of what would be and placed his paw atop the cooling hide in thought. "she not tell me these things." and he had been humiliated by what he had desired to be mercy.

no place for it now. no place for it again. "i need bloodhunters, gjalla. you have anger for this man. i want my eyes see him dead. hunt him. you are saatsine." at last the dark hackles stood down. "man blackfell, he say he want you. i say you must want him first." sun eater offered a privilege here; she would do well to see it for what it stood to be.

his lips tightened; he did not have the words or absence of pride to properly thank the woman for an honesty his own wife had not given. it escaped him, naturally, that he himself had said nothing of his own past, the exiling, the teeth of the moonwolves.

he told himself that this was a different sort of thing. she knew of his son; he had not known she was a mother before. "what is throne?"