Bitterroot Valley [m] mourning dove

star eater watched.
she did not flinch at blackfell’s discipline, nor did she stir when veksar snapped back, their snarls cutting through the air like the winter wind. her eyes, dark and knowing, stayed upon them both, an observer, a witness.
this was not her fight.
this was not her concern.
but it was blackfell’s.
her gaze followed the younger brother as he swung, as he sought her eyes in the throes of his aggression. he would find nothing there. no encouragement, no dismay—just the weight of a woman who had seen countless men tear each other apart and remained unmoved.
let them settle their affairs.
she was only here to watch. and judge the prowess of blackmarch.