Herbalists' Cache homecoming

oh. 

oh. that is funny. 

the world narrows to a seething, white-hot fury behind Gjalla’s ice-pale eyes, her breath steady even as the sheer audacity of him threatens to unravel every ounce of control she has left. none of her business? none of her business that they make a scene for all to see that would only bring them trouble? the nerve. the fucking nerve.

he snarls, bares his teeth, but she doesn’t flinch—doesn’t so much as wilt as so many others might under his fire. who had vouched for him to be here? a scoff, venomous and cold. there’s something ugly in her expression, like salt in some wound that still ached despite the years. she says nothing. she should, she is certainly tempted to, but she would not do so in front of a stranger.

betrayal cuts deeper than anything—she knew this, her mother knew this, his father knew this, morwenna knew this. he knew this too, and it is because of his dismissal of svalla's hurt that she questions him.

but she doesn’t stop him when he turns away, doesn’t stop him from dismissing svalla like she’s nothing, doesn’t stop him from shoving past her, jaw tight with barely leashed aggression. she would deal with him later when she did not want to rip an ear from his body.

when he is gone, she swallows her aggression and lets it simmer to turn her attention to the woman. "who do you look for?"