Herbalists' Cache homecoming

his words are a knife that twist deep and true. her fury only fumes further, the flames licking higher, ready to consume her whole. she'd never once would have thought, all those years ago, that she'd want to murder her friend. that he would have left her, and that when she would have found him again, that she'd wish to tear that cold fucking heart of his out of his chest and piss on it. 

her anger does not budge for the reality. it does not allow her to recognize that blackfell is right. she's too stubborn, too fucking hurt. "you and your fucking father are a plague. all of you crownores are nothing but a rot that needs cleansed." she seethes, breaths heavy, hot. 

and then he's leaving. again. his woman is the only thing standing between them, the only reason svalla doesn't go after him to finish the job. or perhaps meet her own end, at the blade of her old friend. 

if she were a weaker woman, if she were still a child, tears might have burned her eyes. they might have stained her cheeks and betrayed her. but she does not cry. she snarls and spits. "if only your father could see you now, blackfell. turning your back on another fucking fight, like the true coward you've always been."

she does not want to think about how watching him recede into the thicket makes her heart break again. she does not want to think about how she just lost him, again, and probably for good. 

a paw swiped at the ground, a wild snarl she could not contain. she whips to face his woman, her eyes burning. but she has no quarrel with her. her shoulders finally slump, all that tension inking away. her chest heaves with ire hardly contained.

"faust. that bastards cousin." she growled. there was once a time were even speaking his name made her heart skip. 

now, it only made it turn to stone.