Herbalists' Cache i work so much, can't be reminded

gjalla does not still at the call, does not flinch, does not acknowledge it. as if she hadn’t heard. as if she did not care.

she does. but it is not her name, and she has no interest in speaking about blackfell.

her ears flick back before she finally moves, slow and deliberate, turning just enough to fix the stranger with a look that is all cold steel and sharpened edges.

"gjalla." she corrects with a rasp, rough from exhaustion, from the weight of her own fucking mind chewing itself to pieces.

her gaze drags over the dark woman, assessing, but she does not waste time with pleasantries. "what do you want?"