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

he hears her, and the words sink in like ice through his veins.

you think i should’ve just let you two tear into each other?

think, blackfell!

it is the fact that you think it appropriate to talk down to me in front of a stranger as if i am any less than you.

something inside him snaps.

his snarl is akin to thunder, and his patience unravels at the seams. anger coils tight in his chest, not because she is wrong—but because she is a fucking hypocrite.

do you fucking hear yourself, woman? words bitten out between the clench of his teeth. that is exactly what you have done to me! first!

she had assumed. she had spoken to him as if he were a reckless fool, as if he had been picking fights like some thoughtless mongrel, as if he had no fucking reason to defend himself.

she had humiliated him, and she had done it first.

he laughs then, a bitter, sharp thing, devoid of humor. it is the only thing keeping him from doing something he will regret. from letting his temper win. because if he lets himself feel it too deeply—if he lets himself act—this will spiral into something neither of them will be able to walk away from. he takes a step back. then another. it is a forced retreat, but it is the only concession she will get.

if i am such an idiot, let me do us both a favor.

then he turns. without another word, without another glance. and if she calls after him, if she spits more fire, if she throws more venom, he does not stop. does not look back.

this was the first and final time she would ever fucking disrespect him.

exit blackfell

— “norse“ · common