Herbalists' Cache like a dog with a bird at your door

blackfell is still bristling, still seething, still riding the raw edge of his anger when she closes in on him. she moves fast—too fast for him to do anything but stand his ground, to feel the heat of her breath against his face, to feel her anger coil around him like a vice.

she does not even know what happened! is that what they were? was this to set the tone for the rest of their lives together?!

you humiliate yourself. you humiliate us both. and his breath quivers at her words, his eyes flickering about her face. she snaps teeth only a breaths away and his head reels backwards, he stands tall in the face of her wrath, stiff. staring at her with simmering disdain. he should not have spoken to her like that, not in front of svalla. he knows this. but she had stepped in, thrown herself between them, assumed! assumed!

blackfell does not like to be assumed!

she attacked me first, a voice that is cold like winter, frigid. he does not bare teeth at her, but that does not take away how he looks at her. eyes the burning inferno pits of hell. you do not even know what happened. you did not—

he stammers. his jaw clenches, eyes burning into hers, willing her to see.

you did not stand by me!

he cuts himself off, breathing heavy through his nose.

you are to be my wife, gjalla! this is our duty to one another. he spits, now moving, forcing himself into her space in turn. staring down at her past his scarred snout, feeling the anger of her breath whisper against his blocky snout. why do you question me? i have never questioned you. words unspoken. he had trusted her to stand with him, to trust him, and she had not. and that—more than svalla’s claws, more than her venom—was what had struck him deepest.