Arrow Lake henneth annûn

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smoke didn’t bristle at her words. didn’t shift his weight or bare teeth. he just stood there, big as the mountain behind him, letting the wind pull at his fur.

his eyes stayed on her — pale against pale — measuring the stillness, the spine-straight defiance. strange one. not lost, exactly. just… elsewhere.

you’re in teekon wilds, ma’am, he said, voice low and worn, texas gravel carried clean on the cold.

a pause. one shoulder rolled in a small shrug.

name’s older’n hunger, he added. land don’t care much what we call it, though.

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