Noctisardor Bypass glistening shards

blackfell had told her to settle here—rest, regain what strength you can—and so she had obeyed, because she had nothing left in her bones for wandering. not while her daughter was still lost to the north. not while hope clung to her like a faint, flickering pulse.
each day she searched the bypass for herbs that could survive such cruelty. brittle stems, stubborn roots, scraps of life pushing through ice. she gathered them carefully into the fur pouch at her shoulder, telling herself it was enough for now. telling herself she would be stronger when he returned.
she was bent over a patch of winterbitten yarrow when the wind shifted.
two scents. male. unfamiliar.
her blood iced.
her head lifted sharply, breath tangled in her throat. across the snow, she spotted them—one gliding through the valley like a pale wraith, the other a massive norseman trudging through the drifts as if born from them. both moving with the heavy certainty of creatures unafraid of the world.
morwenna froze.
the pouch pressed to her ribs as she sank slightly into her stance, not fully crouched, but braced—like a doe that had learned teeth. her heartbeat quickened, loud in her ears, yet her body stayed silent, motionless against the stark winter.
blackfell wasn’t here.
she was alone.
and the last time strange males had found her—
she shut the memory down, swallowing hard against the rising tremor.
her lips parted but no sound came out. speaking felt dangerous, felt like offering herself up. instead she took a step back, then another, her breath misting in thin, careful threads. she kept her eyes locked on them, wide and bright with fear she couldn’t disguise.