Sunset Valley Tell it to my heart,

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— he is stone and mountain when she crashes into him. he smells salt, salt tears and they form in rivulets upon the star-pelted face of the woman. they bend upon his fur, the fur of his shoulder and soak through, melting soft against the heat that radiates from the skin of the beast.
he had told himself he would be unmoved by her. such things collapse when he is faced by the sight of the queen breaking down. a collapse of grace, crumbling at its foundations; the blackbird grunts, a dark sound and reluctantly brings enveloping paw around her neck. he can only think:
fuck.
blackfell drags paw from neck to back and pulls away from her, only some, to bring her face to look upon his. seeing first the crystal beads of tear as they pour upon her face, and then letting upon the heartbroken eyes that sit upon stained cheeks.
he cannot find words.
ég mun drepa hann. this is his promise to her. the same promise he had made to gjalla, but such a thing had stemmed then from rage. this is from the depths of a heart blackened that beats indefinitely for the star-kissed woman within his arms now. his nose seeks her cheek where he inhales her scent and feels a shudder wrack his engulfing frame, as she pours herself into him. tongue stroking delicately the salt from where he touched. Ég mun færa þér höfuðið á honum þegar ég fer á þig drottningu aftur.
i.
it would be no other than him.