Larksong Grotto my pride

he moved silently, silently with the simmering of rage that lifted the fur at his nape, along his back, hackles. it was a deep, woeful thing that commanded the man now. it had been easy before, to loathe sun eater. that was before the man had refused to fight him, and instead attempted to kill his wife.
and blackfell would now have his vengeance, in any capacity which it came. he did not share the same quarrels that faust had with seeking alliance from skorpa. and even still, he knew what it cost his cousin—and it was a debt he would owe.
a glance shared once. then he succumbs to his anger, letting his brows narrow atop crimson glazed eyes. swallowing the peak in its entirety where they pause at the bottom, and blackfell looks.
waits. and it takes much to wait. to not turn now and stride into the heart of saatsine, to claim the life of vermin in his den.