Dawnlark Plains ☾ déix̲

when the woman approaches, blackfell looks to her. acknowledges her with a stiff dip of his head, but most of his attention remains fixed upon faust. 

he does not know the dynamic of these two, but regardless, blackfell would give his brother no reason to think him a threat. he never had been, and never would be. 

and the mention of gjalla certainly visibly sits unwell with him. his lip twitches, agitation present; ears pulling sideways, the fur along his thick shoulders bristling with a bitter, bubbling resentment. 

gone.

blackfell's one remaining crimson eye falls quietly upon faust where their gaze remains level and even. the other milky, cold, unfeeling; the vision long faded, the trauma of the stag's antler when he first arrived in saatsine having caught up to him finally. he rasps: and if gjalla knows what is best for her, it will remain so. 

once blackfell's heart hardened and turned to coal, it could not be healed, nor restored. that is how it had always been, and would always be. as blackfell shifts upon his paws and redistrubutes his weight, the raven perches once more, this time upon the ruff of silver fur between thick shoulder blades. head cocking, those red beady eyes staring in the direction of moondancer. 

i am tracking morwenna's daughter now. he refuses to utter the damned name. those—fuckin' lanzadoii—took them. morwenna is back with me, but the girl is missing.