Qeya River mockingbird

blackfell exhales sharply through his nose, breath visible in a violent, curling plume.

he searches veksar's face, ignores his insults—knows they are just young bluster—and takes a deep, calming breath. he listens. not for veksar—no, but for the foolish hope his brother still clung to.

his head tilts, red eyes burning through the cold. i swore loyalty to her. he grits. before you were even a thought in our mother's mind. he turns viciously. and where was her loyalty? nowhere.

he had told her he would let it go. and yet it bubbled up again, again, again. it stung. it burned. it scathed. it was like salt in a wound that had never closed. it was a gut-wrenching betrayal.

he goes back to pacing, except he stops pacing rather quickly and settles for walking away. ears pulling upright aggressively at the sound of veksar's paws stomping furiously behind him. she is not going to leave the father of her pups. no woman would. but you go right ahead, brother. test your luck.

he glares back. i will not meddle in the marriage of another man. that is what he said. but it was so much more complicated than that, wasn't it?