Herbalists' Cache futurama

the wind stirs between them, slipping cold fingers through her fur, though it is not the chill that tightens her spine.

"it is what i have chosen." a choice, not a wish.

her ears flick, catching the shift in morwenna’s voice, the way her words settle heavy between them. she has never known her friend to withhold her thoughts, and yet here they stand—morwenna weighed down by the weight of unspoken words, and gjalla unwilling to ease the burden unless it is stated outright.

"you disapprove." a statement, not a question. she can hear it in her voice, see it in her posture. she knew her sister, even in times like these, when their bond felt thin.

she lifts her head, turning to face her companion fully now. in morwenna's eyes, she does not find anger nor judgment, but something quieter. deeper. it is this, more than anything, that digs under her skin. 

Gjalla exhales sharply, shaking out her fur, as if to loosen something coiled tight in her chest. "you do not have to say it." a touch softer now. "i know." it was not her intention, to hurt her, though she knew now that it did.