Sunset Valley honor, empty-mouthed

elowen blinks the sleep from her eyes, limbs stiff. the stranger's scent is thick in her nose now—earthy and bitter and sweet all at once, like crushed leaves beneath heavy paws.

the dark woman circles, and body stiffens, hackles raising as her head lowers. not submissive—well, maybe—but timid.

her voice, when it comes, is soft. "something like that," she scoffs, but it is gentled. her gaze flickers over the other woman’s frame—her ribs, her eyes, the shadow stitched into her breath.

she does not speak of lorcan. not of her dead children. not of the ache in her chest, but it lives in her eyes all the same.