Herbalists' Cache hold my cup

he knows what i am, she concludes, unshaken by his mockery, by the way he turns from her.
blackfell was predictable in his defiance, in his cynicism. she had known him too long, known the way his pride coiled around him like armor, how his loyalty to her did not extend easily to others.
but that did not mean she would stop asking.
must i make it a command? her voice is lighter now, not sharp but pressing all the same. a challenge, a warning. a reminder.
she tilts her head, studying him, silver eyes glinting with something insinuating. i would like to see it— you, him, camaraderie. just as i and gjalla share.
her tail flicks, idle, as if the request is not so heavy. but it is.
you might have more in common with him than you think.