Qeya River i like it when the bite marks cut through the skin.

she had known this was coming, and she was not particularly excited for it. gjalla had no use for a new name, and yet it did not seem optional.

nehzuunxel. dark snow to cut the eyes. strange choice. the meaning is was thing she could carry, familiar, but the name itself feels foreign on her tongue, unfit to wear—it does not sit well with her. she does not flinch. does not speak against it.

the one-eyed man finishes with her and turns to blackfell. he grants him a name, but decides to forgo a fresh rank, and something coils tight within her. he had been beside her, fought at her side, held the snake still so she could cut off the head, and yet..

gjalla does not look at blackfell immediately, though there is a tension in her frame that is telling. it is only when sun eater speaks again that her gaze shifts.

"is there want?"

her lips press together. want. it is too small, too simple a word for what she feels.

periwinkle eyes fall to blackfell—searching, debating. she does not dare move, nor answer. if he felt the same way he did months ago, then he would say so. if he says no, then so will she. if he says yes, then she will not deny him.