Herbalists' Cache wooden doll

less than a moon, star eater murmured, watching the way his paw drifted from her belly, how the weight of his choices settled onto his broad shoulders. two weeks at most.
it was a short window, but if he thought his vengeance could be swift, she would not stand in his way.
if you think it can be done, go.
her voice held no hesitation, only certainty. she would not stop him, nor would she plead for him to stay. this was the path he had chosen, and she had chosen him.
his eye lifted to her, words meant to remind her of what she had been before she came to him.
and neither were you, she countered, quiet but firm.
whatever had been taken from him, whatever had been stripped, shattered, left to fester—it had not broken him. it had reforged him into the man before her now, just as her own trials had reforged her into the woman she had become.
she did not give him time to argue. instead, she stepped forward, tilting her head to press her lips to his, slow and sure.
i will ready her, she whispered against his mouth. and you will do what you must.