Nova Peak ❇ Tēnsha

her eyes find the wound. he answers only with a grunt. rocks were slick. lorcan huffs, feigning some sort of amused sound. more friendly than his earlier demeanor. not deep. won’t slow me.
he watches her work. her hands are steady and practiced, tending with ease. treating the body like it still matters—something that stirs a fond memory—and lorcan watches as if mesmerized for just a moment. then her voice again—asks of his wife.
he snorts, frost rising with it. she’s soft, and always cold. i'll give it to her. she'll hold it like it’s one of her pups.
pause. then quieter. something bone-deep.
she’ll like it. they'll be warm. it was hard to hide his growing frustrations, his resentments towards both wife and child for overrunning his life.
lorcan had thought he'd been ready for this. he was swiftly beginning to realize: maybe he was not. and maybe he never would be.