Qeya River brother's blood

her breath trembled in her chest, her ribs rising and falling with a weight she had not expected to carry. she had told herself she would not cry, had convinced herself there was nothing left to grieve. stark had died long before his body had fallen. he had been gone for seasons, for lifetimes, for as long as she had known she could never love him as he was.
but when she moved, it was without hesitation. she reached for gjalla, pressed herself into her, held her with a quiet desperation that went unspoken. her face buried against her, and there, in the silence between them, she wept. quietly, steadily. her shoulders shook, but she did not sob. she simply let herself grieve in the only way she knew how.
thank you, she whispered, barely more than a breath. her voice wavered, but she held firm, as if speaking the words aloud might make them real. that was not my brother. she said it like a conviction, like a truth she needed to believe. because if she did, maybe it would not hurt so much.
she pulled away only slightly, enough to meet gjalla’s gaze. it is fairing well, she answered, voice steadier now. she inhaled sharply, as if drawing strength from the woman before her. strong, like their father. like the man who had given her a new life. a safer one.
she searched gjalla’s face, her own wet with the remnants of her sorrow, but she did not pull away completely. will you stay?