Herbalists' Cache life feels worse, but good with you in it

she casts the hunter a sidelong glance, sharp and knowing. perceptive—too perceptive. it makes gjalla bristle, instinctive and unthinking, like a wound flinching from the touch.

"gjalla," she answers, short and clipped. It is a name she wears like a blade, something meant to cut, to keep others at arm’s length. 

black hawk does not prod at the frayed edges of her patience, does not try to unravel what gjalla has no interest in spilling. instead, she walks beside her, calm and unbothered. good.

"i am always angry," she mutters at last. not an answer, but it is not a lie. But it is the closest thing she is willing to give.