Blackfoot Forest battle

a shadow to her stormcloud.

the bulk of him blending well into the midnight of the forest. spindly branches clawing at his tall, lumbering form as he passes by and under. the crimson stare of a hunter fixed ahead, scanning the trail for any sign of their quarry.

but the forest was sickly with him. as if he had been all around, his rot pungent. to an extent, it was nearly disorienting.

gjalla’s anger was simmering, like to wear off on him the longer it breathed. they shared a silence, an understanding that was all too familiar, and yet unfamiliar all the same. stark’s blood their silent vow.

he had not spoken since they’d set off, had barely even let his breath give him away. but now, as they neared the crest of a ridge where the scent grew stronger, he rumbles knowingly. it is now he breaks his silence: do you smell that?

but he already knows her answer.