King Elk Forest heart the keeper

she came out of the brambles low and quiet, soot-dark against the green, heat ghosting off her skin. when she spotted the pair, she lifted her head and barked once — sharp, carrying — enough to pull their eyes without chasing them off.

as the larger male moved to shield, she slowed. stopped. no threat in her posture. her tail stayed low but loose, head tipped in acknowledgment rather than fear. she circled just enough to see them both, reading ribs, stances, the way they held themselves beneath the forest’s weight.

then she sat back on her haunches and touched a paw briefly to her chest, then to the ground between them. an offering of meaning, not words. warhall. shelter. a place that takes the broken and makes them hold.

her gold eyes stayed on them, patient. waiting to see if they would step forward — or fade back into the trees.