Whitebark Stream moon knight

he huffs at her comment. true enough, maybe. veksar was his brother and so that meant he could work. no man hailing from blackmarch was weak, in any sort of sense. but—

he speaks suddenly. but he is not a boy anymore. something they had both noticed. blackfell had not seen him in... gods, how long? it was nearing a year now. and how time had shaped veksar, turned him into a man; melted away puppy fat, lightened his fur with age.

his head tilts, offering her the bloodied scrapes that criss cross the side of his snout. for her to tend to, ever the attentive healer. he remembered when star eater was nothing more than a spoiled southern princess—and ever brought up, she would retort she was from the north—but no evenspire wolf knew what true north was.

he grits teeth when the salve stings his wounds. he cannot help but chuckle. you try. he raises a brow. see how it goes.