Snowforest Taiga you were laid in verse, living on a promised word

gjalla stood rooted in her place, unshaken by the bulk of the wolf who came down the slope like some fallen sun— an icarus, golden and scarred. heavy with a history she did not yet know.

her breath steamed in the cold, drawn slow and measured. he dipped his head, and though it was not hers to claim, she received it all the same. her stare carved into him like shards of ice—unrelenting and pitiless.

a beat passes. one to two, two to three. at last, words—"speak."