Whitebark Stream moon knight

blackfell’s jaw tightens as her herbs bite into his wounds. crimson eyes shift to hers when she speaks—for gjalla. it’s always her, isn’t it?

he grunts, the weight of the words sinking in. "she wouldn’t say it, but she needs family too," he mutters.

his gaze drifts back to the clearing where veksar waits, still bristling from their earlier clash. family. a pain in the ass, but necessary.

"he stays if he pulls his weight," he finalizes. "he’s blackmarch. he'll manage."

there is grudging acceptance in his eyes. the half knowing, sarcastic smile on his face. he wasn’t about to coddle his brother—or anyone... but he wouldn’t turn him away either.