Herbalists' Cache hold my cup

his lip curls, just slightly, though the scoff never leaves his throat. always the same. pressing. demanding. challenging. she had never been a woman content to let things lie. and he—he had never been able to deny her.

but camaraderie? the thought alone makes his teeth clench.

he stands rigid beside her, the breath of his sigh visible in the cold air between them. she is baiting him. he knows it. feels the tug of it like a hook in his gut, and he resents her for it. she speaks as though he and sun eater might sit together, drink together, speak of war and wolves and her in equal measure.

she moves closer, prying him open without a single claw.

do not insult me.