Qeya River hunger consuming

blackfell did not stop. his stride did not slow.

do what you want. it was not a question, not the way he uttered it. words came low, rough, exhaled into the cold all the while he did not look at her.

but he listened, because he had no choice. she had invaded his silence.

she was bold. bold once before, bold now. blackfell loathed her arrogance—which he would never admit he, too, was plagued by—whereas the chieftain seemed to become giddy by it. his lip curls.