Herbalists' Cache white flag

before, you so full for her.

blackbird grimaces, cutting his gaze out across the snowy expanse of the clearing. far, in the center, the snow den he had crafted for his very pregnant wife. he proclaimed no one would go near, not even him; to that, blackfell supposes it is only fair.

a very simple request blackfell would respect, and heed. sun eater turns, looking to create distance from morwenna's laboring den and the onyx man follows, listening to the sound of their mighty breathing and the crunch of ice and snow beneath thudding paws.

she questions me. he speaks sun eater's tongue, what little of it he has learned—if only to get the point across he has learned—and his chin juts out, sticky with his ebbing pride. defiantly, as he thinks of gjalla. a woman— he carefully leaves out the detail blackfell had known her, attacked. i fought her—and gjalla came to her defense. called me an idiot!

black lips snarl up as he looks nowhere important. she fears what you would think. and blackfell snorts, angrily swatting at a pile of snow. watching it tumble as they pass by. i think you would have done the same. am i wrong? he turns appraising eye to the man.