Duskfire Glacier behind closed doors

vague timeline! thinking two weeks after her arrival?

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gjalla was not resting. though she had been told to do so, warned and begged and ordered, she could not sit still. she paced—slowly, doggedly—like a storm cloud circling the peak, unable to rain. each step was a test of the flesh. each breath still caught, now and then, like wind snagged on jagged stone. but she lived.

when svalla entered, gjalla turned. not sharply—no, her movements had grown more measured since the attack, a predator relearning its body after the frost, but her eyes met the wildling’s cleanly; piercing and alert, with no ounce of weakness left to hide behind. still healing, yes, but never faded.

her gaze dropped to the gift. a fox’s pelt, white as the woman who brought it, and a freshly felled calf. she shifted—softened a slight in reaction, skeptical.

“for me?” her voice was coarse still, rough from damage long done, but steadier than it had been in days past.