Herbalists' Cache white flag

it is difficult now to swallow bubbling agitation from merely breathing the same air as the man, but it is doable. the summons are heeded and blackfell takes a few leisurely steps closer, coming to stand side by side with the man, though there is still a measure of distance between them.

there is a lack of the usual malice written across sun eater's face, something that says this interaction may not be as insufferable as he'd thought. blackfell raises his head, nodding in appreciation of the snow den the man has made. he must admit: it is good work. and efforts put in for morwenna that blackfell might not have thought to do even himself.

ruby eyes slide slowly to observe his face, and he huffs a breath. no. the initial reply is short, and he swallows his breath. teeth, molars, grind audibly for seconds few before he inhales sharply. i do not know. comes the shrug of his shoulders, and the agitated twitch of his tail. he thinks on he and gjalla's dispute—it had been a bad one. and now, he doesn't know where the two of them stand.

it may not happen at all. blackfell looks fully to sun eater before he makes to move. he cannot be idle right now, not as his fur begins to prickle with displeasure—once, not for the chieftain, but for the woman he was supposed to feel nothing but affection for.