Herbalists' Cache futurama

the wind moves slow today, curling soft as breath around the snow-capped stones. star eater tracks the familiar silhouette ahead, the pale sweep of @Gjalla's back moving between drifts. she calls her with a gentle chuff, closing the distance until they walk side by side, silent but for the crunch of ice beneath their steps. each of them carries the weight of caribou dewclaws between their jaws, the clinking of bone a steady rhythm.
tension hums low between them, an invisible thread pulled taut. star eater does not ask why. she does not want to know. whatever blackfell has whispered into gjalla's ear, she lets the secret rot there. it will remain buried between them like so many other things.
at the snow shelter, she places the dewclaws in the circle, her movements careful, almost reverent. protection. strength. no ill omens would cross this threshold.
only after the last claw is set does she speak, voice quiet beneath the pale sun. i heard you are going with my husband. her eyes do not lift from the snow. disappointment sits bitter on her tongue, but she does not hide it. i… words fail her for a moment, caught in the wind. she shakes her head, exhaling slowly.
is… that what you wish?