Herbalists' Cache let the drum speak

cameo, out of site with other shore.

other shore pressed closer at star eater’s side, warmth against the frost tightening in her chest. unseen, tucked into the shadow of the trees, they watched.
star eater did not flinch at the sight of him, but her tail flicked sharply against the snow. blood still darkened his pelt, his wounds speaking of the war he had begun. her war. she could hear the murmur of wolves, the way his words drifted through the cold air, curling like smoke from the wreckage he had left behind.
when he named them—gjalla, blackfell, black hawk—her ears pinned back. whore. rage simmered beneath her skin, but she did not move. she would not step forward to call herself traitor.
he the one who tried to kill my sister, she murmured, voice low, sharp, for other shore alone. it was good that she had told black hawk to stay at the snow shelter. she could not trust herself to keep her there otherwise.
but her husband spoke of her, too. of her absence. of her silence. as if he had not sought to stain his teeth with the blood of her own kin. as if he had not waged war with his own jaws while she bled for him, for them.
she exhaled slowly, steadying herself. she would not cry for him now. she had done all she could.
he is lost, she said at last, though she did not know if she spoke to other shore or to herself. her eyes remained on him, on the tattered remnants of the man she once knew. and i do not think he will find his way back.