Qeya River hunger consuming

it’s because i am.

his voice a blade left unsheathed, waiting. he does not care for the pomp of words, for the posturing of wolves who think themselves grander than they are. saatsine is just a clan of hunters, living off the land, moving as the seasons command. no roots. no walls. no legacy. nothing to stand against time.

nothing to claim.

his breath escapes in a sharp huff, curling into the cold. he grunts: a place is only as remarkable as the ones who rule it.

crimson eyes flick to her now, pinning her beneath his gaze, though he does not stop walking. a scoff. a flash of teeth, the curve of something that is almost a grin, but not quite. what do you think waits for you here?