Herbalists' Cache i do not know my part

star eater did not hesitate.
he will let you stay.
her voice was steady, firm—a statement, not a hope. she had not fought to bring this world into being only to see it shattered by the weight of old wounds. sun eater was a man of duty. of legacy. he would not throw away a warrior so loyal to his blood.
but her cause had been betrayed.
black hawk had not meant to wound her, but she had. and star eater was not the woman she had once been. the softness black hawk searched for had been stripped from her like flesh from bone.
her gaze swept over the tawny and dark-furred woman, reading every line of sorrow etched into her form. regret. shame. an unyielding devotion, even now.
black hawk would follow her. serve her. bend the knee if it came to that.
star eater did not want her knee. she wanted her spine.
she stepped forward, slow, deliberate, until their breaths mingled in the cold. then be mine.
the words were not spoken in gentleness, but in command. she would not carry a weak heart in her ranks.
be theirs. her gaze flicked to where the children lay nestled in the warmth of the den. stand beside me, as you swore you would.
or do not stand at all.