Silver Moraine i am a result

blackfell chuckles, low, rough—an amused rumble deep in his chest. he bumps her gently again, shoulder firm against hers, easy as breathing. the bitterness softens a fraction, edges worn smooth by the familiarity of her weight beside him.
ah, i see. wasting your time. what is new?
his voice is teasing, but crimson eyes glint with approval. she is still jóra—sharp-tongued, unbreakable. his sister, the only true equal he’d ever known.
he leads them forward, comfortable silence settling like snowfall between them. after a beat, he speaks again, voice quieter.
so you claim no home, then?