Sunset Valley my lord my light

késhka’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. the cold bit at her exposed scarred flesh, but she was used to it—had long made peace with the sting.
follow you? her voice carried sharp skepticism, rough like gravel. her brow arched. i don’t even know your name.
her tail flicked behind her as she stood her ground. the man was a brute—imposing, powerful—but she was no lamb to be led blindly into the unknown. she had followed men before, and it had cost her half her face.
but there was something in his stride, in the way he spoke with certainty, that intrigued her. this was not a man wandering aimlessly. he had a purpose. and she… well, she had none.
for now.
with a huff, she took a few steps forward, falling into his trail. tell me your name, soldier.