Qeya River black swift

her eyes search him for signs of mockery—doubt. some trace of condescension. it does not come. he says it like it is fact, and for that, she does not snap at him.

"morwenna’s husband. saatsine. why is my family here?" gjalla exhales sharply through her nose. that was a question, wasn’t it? one that had many answers, and she only had a few.

"sun eater. i do not know him well," she concedes, "only that he is good to mo. she has not known much security in her life; he seems to give her that." as long as her spirit sister was safe, she did not care the company she kept.

gjalla did not serve sun eater, not wholly. she was in his service, as she was to rhaegon, but her loyalty belonged to morwenna alone. as for the rest, she considers him, weighing whether or not she should speak further. the question would have been better answered by his kin.  

“saatsine is not like the crags,” she pauses, eyes narrowing as she picks through her words, then finally settles. "nomadic. crude, in a way. you will see. blackfell is here for me."


“why are you here?”