Duck Lake what have they done to us?

she watches him, silent. he steps back, and though the cold rushes in where his warmth had been. His words linger in the space between them, weaving something unspoken yet palpable, something that settles deep in her marrow. a declaration.

she should be afraid of what it means—what it asks of her—she was before. but now, as she looks at him, at the raw, unguarded want in his crimson eyes, she feels no fear. only hope, hope for better things. a better life, with him at her side.

his gaze traces her, drinking her in as if she is something precious, something irreplaceable. it unnerves her, the way he sees her. not as a warrior, not as a weapon, not as a thing shaped by vengeance and grief. but as gjalla. as a woman of flesh and blood, of strength and longing. of jagged edges and quiet, fragile things buried deep beneath the ruin. 

"og ég mun taka þig í burtu þegar tíminn er réttur."

a promise. 

she does not move, does not speak, but she accepts. in the way her gaze softens, in the way her breath steadies, in the way her body does not pull away but remains, resolute, waiting. 

she will go with him, when sun eater permits it. she will let herself exist outside of ghosts and grudges, outside of all the things that tether her to the past. for seven days, she will take what is offered and decide. if the gods dared to try and steal it from her, she will tear them down with her own two paws.

---

fade!