Qeya River i like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.

feel free to skip me, but ill reply if he's addressed!

there is nothing but silence. silence, shared between the three hunters. but the world is loud with its contempt. the hardened snow from days where more had not fallen, leaving ice to take root where winter made its forge.

there is something grim about carrying a man's head to where he may be made an example. not that blackfell cares; he had pissed on the bastard's body before it even grew cold.

he moreso is concerned about gjalla. again, she has grown silent—but he knows what goes on in her mind. it is turbulent, now, but in the coming days it would settle. the storm would pass. she would not feel the weight of taking a man's life for long. and if she did, blackfell would be there to ease it. distract her with the future awaiting them both.

the man comes to a halt several feet away where gjalla approached sun eater. crimson eyes onlooking, the guardian at her shoulder, but he understood this was something she must do alone: shaking the ghost that breathed down her raven neck.