Qeya River the dark knight

as always, he is a stoic figure alongside the woman. her shadow, her shield. his head lowered amongst his shoulders, moving with long strides, scarred legs upholding an iron will.

he looks over, to see @Gjalla at his side. and he knows that she fits there. two pieces of a puzzle, meant to soar together. she is ice, he is fire—two catalysts, yet her cool does not extinguish him. he only burns hotter.

her scent a tempting thing. he might have brought them both tangling to the snow now if it were not for the lingering presence of something nearby...

something crownore.

which immediately prickles his hide, guard hairs instinctively rising like the quills of a porcupine. ready to sting. gjalla senses it too, the way she stiffens at his side; her eyes finding his, and his jaw hardens as he passes crimson eyes over.

there, come walking through the forest, a bastard. blackfell marches forwards, tail a flag of arrogance, of superiority, lips curled back tight. and not only was he a loathed cousin, he was trespassing!