Qeya River brother's blood

star eater did not press her, did not seek words where none were needed. gjalla had already given her answer.
instead, she turned back to the herbs, the scent of them filling the den—earthy, sharp, familiar. she did not speak at first, only moved with practiced ease, sorting, separating. it was a quiet, steady thing, something to ground them both.
i used to do this with my mother, she murmured after a moment, voice low, distant. before i was queen.
her eyes flickered up, searching gjalla’s face, the set of her jaw, the tension still lingering in her frame.
you hold yourself like her, you know. proud. unshaken. a pause, something unreadable passing through her gaze. she would have liked you.
it was not an empty comfort, nor was it a gentle thing. it was truth.
she pressed another bundle toward gjalla, a silent invitation to take part, to share in something that was neither battle nor power struggle nor the weight of expectation.
watch me. i’ll show you.