Stone Circle lieut

briggs inclines his head, a slow, measured nod. respect, not submission. he is not a man to grovel, nor does he see the need. he understands the weight of the other’s words, the warning behind them. it’s fair. if their places were reversed, he’d think the same.

i don’t make a habit of it, he answers, voice even, gravelly. it’s the truth—he prefers to know the lay of the land before stepping foot where he doesn’t belong. but winter forces a man’s hand, and he’s learned to take what he can get.

he moves as beckoned, long strides unhurried but purposeful. he follows, silent save for the steady crunch of snow beneath his paws. whatever test awaits him, he is ready.