Herbalists' Cache hoof cache

she listens. carefully. quietly. watching the tension in his shoulders, the anger spitting from between his teeth like embers, as though they might catch the snow on fire around them if she does not smother them first.
when they are far enough, when the wind drowns the others and leaves only them, she steps closer. her breath curls, soft as smoke, and she hushes him—not with a sound, but with a glance, with the faintest shake of her head.
gjalla? she echoes, as though the name tastes foreign on her tongue in this context. there’s a frown etching across her face, carved deep. she finally grew a pair then? a bitter sort of jest, but even saying it aloud doesn’t sit right. star eater wants to defend her—truly—but the weight of her husband’s words is heavier still. do not speak against him. it is improper.
her jaw tightens, muscles ticking as she turns from him, pacing a sharp line through the snow. it is easier to walk than to face him, than to admit how unsettling it is to hear all this about gjalla—her gjalla—acting like some foolish girl who doesn't know when to hold her tongue.
star eater sneers, glancing over her shoulder. she has gone too far this time.
and yet...
blackfell’s words hang between them, and star eater feels the truth of them. at what point am i sacrificing who i am?
slowly, she stops. turns to face him again, head tilted, eyes narrowed as if weighing him on some invisible scale.
you shouldn’t have to, she murmurs at last. you’re not a man made to be small. not for anyone. a pause. her gaze softens just slightly. but tell me... what did you say to her? before it came to this?