Blackfoot Forest battle

the trail was maddening. stark’s stench clung to everything, weaving through the forest like a sickness. it was everywhere and nowhere, poisoning the air so thickly it left a bitter taste on her tongue. a poison, he always was—eternally toxic. ever undeserving. gjalla’s lips curled faintly, and she let out a low growl under her breath—a sound not meant for blackfell but for the man they hunted. 

they didn’t speak. they understood without words, two halves of one whole. moved in tandem, stalking forward as one.

the climb grew steeper as they neared the ridge. gjalla’s jaw tightened as a foul stench hit her nose, periwinkle irises narrowed into slits.

the man behind her spoke, a low rumble. she didn’t answer immediately. didn’t need to.

“yes.” a single word, clipped and cold, but it carried with it the weight of her wrath. her gaze flicked toward blackfell briefly before snapping back to the trail ahead.

“close now.” she muttered, more to herself than to him, her tone dark and brimming with promise. her breath curled in the wind like smoke as she exhaled. she didn’t look back to see if blackfell followed—there was no need. he would follow. her hound always did. she was growing to like it.