Herbalists' Cache hoof cache

he does not stop her.

he should—but doesn’t.

his body remains still, his breath slow and controlled, though every fiber of him screams to keep her against him—to hold her there, to tell her she is wrong. that she is worthy! that he would love her anyway, despite all the laws she binds herself to, despite all the gods she prays to in silence.

but he is not a fool.

blackfell lets her slip from his grasp, lets the warmth of her leave him, lets the scent of her fade into the cold. and his red eyes follow her, watching as she moves toward the water, toward the life she has chosen.

it is a quiet sort of agony. and blackfell must live with it, and too move toward the life he has chosen.

— “norse“ · common