Blackfoot Forest battle

her ears flick toward him, catching the weight of his words. his declaration. i will kill for you.

it doesn’t surprise her, not entirely—blackfell’s devotion had always been palpable, a smoldering ember at her heels, waiting to be fanned into flame at first command. the absolute of it is what strikes her, the pluck of a song cord that sends a shockwaves through her. a darkness, saccharine sweet. yes, he would. she would let him, watch in awe when he came back with a blood-slicked maw. what lengths would he go to in order to please her?

gjalla doesn’t respond, not immediately. her gaze fixed ahead, tracking the crimson streaks that carved their path through the snow.

she glances at him from the corner of her eye, a maelstrom gaze meeting volcanic for a fleeting moment. his expression is unreadable, save for the intensity in his crimson stare. he is an enigma, a shadow bound to her by loyalty so fierce it borders on worship. 

gjalla growls low in her throat, but it is more to herself than to him, more pleased than pissed, and quickens her pace. “stay close,” she orders, brooking no argument. storm and shadow.