Jade Fern Grove threading the needle

Ivana waited a heartbeat longer than necessary, ensuring her movement was her own choice rather than an act of following. She stepped into the churned snow of the clearing, her pale eyes ignoring the wolf to focus entirely on the work he had done.
The valkyrie circled the elk once, her nose skimming the steam still rising from the open throat. She noted the lack of struggle, the precision of the strike, and the sheer size of the prize. It was a kill made by someone who understood that energy was a resource not to be wasted. She stopped across from him, the massive carcass between them, and looked up. Her expression remained a mask of frozen slate.
„Clean,” she murmured, the word a low, cold rasp of approval. She offered no softening, no shift in her stance as she looked from the kill back to him.
„Strength indeed,” she echoed, mirroring his own word with a flat, challenging tone. He had proven he could kill, but her icy stare remained fixed on him, searching for the crack in his armor. He had shown her a meal, but he had yet to prove he could stand his ground.