Qeya River a pack of dogs

blackfell watches her. she takes her time. smart girl. there is patience in her choice, a calculating eye. she will do well, if she does not get herself killed first.

but when she glances at him, searching for approval, his ear flicks. burying the smirk on his face behind a mask of indifference.

fogging breath is hot in the frozen air, cords of muscle twitching as long strides carve through the snow. he does not chase at sun eater’s flank like some obedient hound.

no—he cuts his own path, sweeping wide, watching, waiting.