Duskfire Glacier deep down, you hide a reason for shame

gjalla sees the flick of his ears. the almost-turn. the swell of breath held tight in his chest. she understands.

even if it guts her.

her gaze doesn’t leave him, not even when he offers her his back. especially not then. she doesn’t press—doesn’t call out again. her heart aches with the weight of his silence. it is heavier than any wound, heavier than the blood she lost, than the scars that will never fade. heavier still is the way he doesn’t look at her—not really. not like he did before. not with that pride, that fire, that bone-deep certainty that she was his and he was hers.

her throat tightens. not from pain. from knowing. knowing that something has shifted, even if he will not name it. she wants to go to him, to close the space, but she is still healing. and he is different. less receptive, perhaps. that guts her, too.

so instead, she shifts—slowly, gingerly—closer to the hide he brought her. her voice threads through the quiet once more.

“sit with me,” she says. not a plea. not a command. just… soft. hoping he’ll hear her for what she really means. i miss you.