Qeya River well, I know what you want from me

blackfell nods once to the chieftain, a responding acknowledgement of his presence. afterwards, the onyx man falls in silent step on the opposite side of the woman, consciously pinning her flanks between the two of them. he glances her way, taking measure—dark coat, strong frame. she moves with confidence, that admittedly grates on him—but perhaps there’s merit to her after all.

he thinks, if she had any sort of moral compass, he might be inclined to introduce her to his brother. @Veksar needed a strong woman to temper that head of his. he nearly snorts audibly but contains his momentary self-imposed humor.

besides, he trusts few.

the herd ahead is scattered through the trees, wary but not panicked. he begins to devise a strategy—but the woman moves suddenly, surging toward the nearest yearling. his fur bristles at the abruptness, paws digging into the snow as he launches after her.

he slows just enough as he looks to sun eater to see what the man will do so blackfell might follow direction.