Sunset Valley little bird, broken wing

gjalla, in time, has become a mother to her. morwenna, too, she has come to view as mother. but none, none provide for her the sense of warmth and safety that blackfell does. her protector.

her father.

he who would just as soon lead an army as cradle her like a child in his arms. and he does now, one paw cupping her cheek as if she is some delicate thing. he does not tremble, does not falter, but even still she feels the tension in his touch. angry, grieving, pained. she leans into the touch nonetheless, glassy eyes meeting clear ones.

"i fought." seeking his pride, his approval. she protected the children when all she wanted to do was flee. "i was brave. like you." and that is all she has ever wanted.