Duskfire Glacier down by riverside resting

gjalla did not answer at first. she only studied the woman at her threshold, searching her face, the subtle lines of her expression. yellow eyes, keen and steady. a name. not one she knew.

her tail flicked once against the furs, slow and deliberate. she had no patience for the careful dance of civility, not when she lay here—useless, wounded, waiting. it made her restless. it made her angry.

“if you must.” the words left her flatly, not a welcome, but not a refusal. gjalla was not fool enough to deny a healer, not when she still felt the ghost of her own blood, warm against her throat, spilling over the snow.