Whitebark Stream mathron

<3

A hoarse yet feminine voice echoed behind him. Astier halted, head turning slightly to acknowledge the source. The shadow woman, draped in dark hues, trailed him with glacial eyes that mirrored the cold he himself carried. His gaze flicked briefly to her throat, where a raw, unhealed scar marred her flesh. She must be Gjalla; Blackfell’s wife. The woman for whom men would bleed and kingdoms would crumble; and what a woman she was!
Astier offered her a curt nod, „Caribou,” he murmured, the word slipping from his lips like frost, „I need a new pelt.”  A clarification, for he had no intention of acting without the Kaan's command. He observed her then, pale gaze lingering longer than  intended; that she survived such a wound was a testament to her strength. Yet, he would tread carefully; her body bore the weight of near death, and he would not be responsible for reopening her wound.
Shifting his attention back to the earth, he caught sight of a trail: „There,” hoof prints, uneven and dragging, a clear sign of a wounded or sickly one that drifted away from the herd. Lowering his muzzle, Astier inhaled the scent; fresh, the beast must be close.
Rising to his full height, he cast a sidelong glance at Gjalla. A silent question hung in the air between them, but he voiced nothing. Would she follow, or would she spare herself further harm? He would not press her, nor would he allow her to fall beside him in the hunt. The pale wraith moved forward with fluid grace, allowing her the choice to follow or not.