Qeya River my head says i never should've left

calling for @Gjalla -- pings for visibility @Sun Eater @Ice Diver

blackfell had wandered some. several days, in fact. then he got fed up with the loneliness and turned around. marching his ass back the way he had come, back towards where he'd parted ways with gjalla.

then he tracked her scent beneath what snow had fallen since, which took several hours because he had never been the best tracker. now, he stands on the outskirts of some river. his crimson eyes burned as they traced the winding path of it, following it to where he imagined she might be. gjalla. even now, the name left a bitter taste on his tongue, a strange mix of frustration and idiotic desire.

debating whether or not he'd call for her. but then he does. bites the bullet. runs the gauntlet. blackfell tilted his head back and let out a howl—it wasn’t a plea, wasn’t anything soft or gentle. it was a declaration, demanding her presence like the stubborn fool he knew he was. and he frankly didn't care if he attracted whatever nomads she ran with while he was at it. fuck it, maybe he'd stay.

he didn't have anything better to do.

The sound reached her first, splitting the crisp winter air with its raw audacity. Gjalla had been standing ankle-deep in the river, watching the lazy eddies curl around her legs, the cold biting through her fur and seeping into her bones. She’d come here for the quiet.

But of course, the quiet never lasted. Not with him

Her ears flicked toward the sound of his howl, unmistakable even with the distance between them. There was no mistaking that tone—the sheer nerve of it. She should’ve ignored him. She wanted to ignore him. To let him stew in his own self-righteousness while she carried on without him.

Instead, Gjalla let out a long sigh, her breath curling like smoke in the cold air, and stepped out of the river. Water dripped from her fur as she turned, tracing the sound to its source. It didn’t take long to spot him, a dark figure against the pale winter landscape, standing on the outskirts of the treeline like he owned the damn place. 

Fucking hypocrite. “And here I thought you didn’t entertain nomads.” she called as she approached, her voice sharp enough to cut through the stillness.

Her gaze locked onto his as she drew nearer, and she couldn’t help the flicker of irritation that crept into her expression. She stopped several paces away, posture rigid, head held high. “Let me guess—you got bored? Lonely?” 

She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied him. There was a pang of something familiar in his stance, in the way his crimson gaze searched for her like he didn’t know what to do without her. But she shoved it down, burying it beneath her frustration.

“Whatever it is, make it quick,” she added coldly. “I’ve got better things to do than entertain your hypocrisy.”

cameo

she had followed gjalla loosely, a quiet shadow ensuring the other’s movements remained under watchful eyes. but now, something sharper pulled her focus—a scent. charred ember, the metallic tang of blood, something unmistakably crownore.

her breath caught in her throat, eyes narrowing as she fixed on the dark figure that stood boldly in the open, his howl tearing through the stillness. it was a son of that cursed bloodline, one she had encountered before. the audacity of his presence here, the way he called for gjalla without care for what it might bring, sent a ripple of unease through her chest.

k’edghildza held her breath, her form still as frost gathered along her fur. she had no intention of intervening; this was not her place, not her fight. but she stayed, watching, waiting. her gaze flicked toward gjalla, then back to the crownore wolf, the tension between them thick as the biting winter air.

she hoped—prayed—that her husband or ice diver would come upon this scene and make swift work of whatever this encounter threatened to become. for now, she stayed hidden, her presence a looming shadow that neither acknowledged but both might feel.

he can only huff in response and endure her lashings. though he does rise to his full height, bristling before her, though crimson eyes hold a solemn softness reserved only for her. he regrets what was said between the both of them. would he say that? no.

when she finishes, he responds with the lash of his tail and a few steps closer, coming to her, shoulder to shoulder, dropping his gaze and turning his head to look down at her past a scarred snout.

im not here to argue, gjalla. he grumbles, before scanning eyes across their surroundings. only her, so far. he looks back to her. into those periwinkle eyes, upon her beautiful face. a man devoted to a chase he was losing.

when he speaks again, his voice is quieter but no less gruff. we both made some assumptions... he trails off, head tilting, eyes casting away as if trying to find the words. this was just fucking awkward. he wasn't a man who apologized. he wouldn't! but no doubt the raven woman would find a way to drag one out of him before this was said and done.

he's full of pride, and it will be the end of him. through gritted teeth: i have no one else. nowhere else.

Gjalla didn’t flinch as he stepped closer, though her ears flicked in annoyance at his approach. Her posture didn’t soften, not even when he loomed shoulder to shoulder with her, his familiar bulk casting a long shadow across the frost-dusted ground. The skin of her snout wrinkled, cringing, but she said nothing. 

Her eyes bore into him, scrutinizing every twitch of his expression, every subtle shift in his stance. She saw the bristle in his fur, the tension in his jaw, but more than that, she saw the weight behind his words—the reluctance.

When he finally spoke, his voice quieter, her gaze narrowed slightly. Not here to argue, he said, and yet his presence alone felt like a challenge. Her lips parted, a retort on the tip of her tongue, but his next words stilled her. The admission was gruff, halting, like it had to be dragged out of him kicking and screaming. I have no one else. Nowhere else. Just as she'd suspected—he was lonely.

For a moment, the frost in her gaze thawed. Just for a moment. “And you think I can solve that for you?” She questioned, though the sharpness of her tone faltered. Her eyes searched his, catching the solemn light in crimson depths, the quiet plea buried beneath all his pride.

Gjalla huffed, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the weight of his words. “Thought I told you we weren't friends,” Her voice dropped, the edge of it fading into something quieter, almost resigned. She turned her head, her gaze falling away from him to the river at her back.

“Don’t waste my time.” she murmured, barely above a whisper. Her gaze flicked back to him, sharp and piercing, daring him to say something—anything—that would convince her not to send him away again. A final chance to the ill-fated prince to make amends.

he cannot stop the growl that bubbles up in his throat. but then there is the immediate flash of regret, and when she tries to walk off, bid by his outburst, he steps in front of her. a sudden movement, cutting her off with his shoulder, crimson meeting periwinkle as he looked into her eyes.

i dont want to be your friend. he snaps, but not from anger. from insistence. because he doesn't want to be her friend. she knows that, and he thought he made himself clear. but pushing it here, now, probably wasn't the best idea. so he shakes his head, like trying to rid himself of his arrogance and his eyes widen briefly as he looks upon her, like he's trying to make her see the good will of his intentions. or, lack of bad will.

and his teeth grit; like it pains him to admit his faults, but he knows he's walking on thin ground, and at any moment, one of her superiors could show up—and depending on what gjalla says, he could be leaving instead of staying. so he lowers his head to her level, as if trying to make himself appear less large, less imposing. he wasn't trying to exert himself over her, but he would if she wouldn't listen to him. his eyes almost frantically flick around her face, examining her hostile body language, as if some desperation had come over him.

i'm not wasting your time. he scoffs—practically gasps—the words out, his tail lashing viciously behind his towering form. i have never wasted your time. he says gruffly, insistently, brows drawing together in a furrow: i have only ever said the truth. it just— he stops, and exhales a breath. it wasn't my place. i'm— he pauses again.

he cannot say sorry. he cannot get it out. he looks into her eyes, as if silently pleading with her to not make him say it.

if i missed anything lmk, just a quick mobile post at work!

she has not yet burned for the pairing of her husband. yet she knows that others are being thrusted into it and that their time here is surely limited as it is anywhere.

suffice to say, she is not welcoming of strange men come to call women. she may not be the masculine hammer of sun eater’s one-eyed stare, but she is war chief. not scared of any strange man any longer. it matters not if he looms in a bearish size. her status and strength matter more here.

what man thinks he has rights to come calling? her question is a demand for identity. uncaring of what ties he had to any who had become saatsine.

he is not a caribou hunter and that was what mattered most to her in this moment.

Gjalla stopped mid-step, her sharp ears twitching at the growl that erupted from him. Her expression hardened immediately as she turned to face him again—only to find him already moving, his bulk cutting her off. She squared her shoulders instinctively, her jaw tightening as he loomed close. The heat in his voice wasn’t anger—not entirely—but it grated against her all the same. His words bit into the cold space between them, and she couldn’t stop the flicker of incredulity that passed over her features.

“Then what the do you want, Blackfell?” she demanded, daring him to push further, to give her a reason to dismiss him entirely. But as he spoke, shaking his head and dropping his posture in a way that seemed almost... vulnerable, she hesitated. He wasn’t trying to impose himself over her—not like before. And there, in the frantic flick of his eyes, the furrow of his brow. 

“I don’t care what you think you’ve said,” she snapped, though her voice had lost some of its venom, “or what truths you think you’ve told. If you can’t even take responsibility for the way you’ve treated me—”

She stopped, her words catching as she saw the way his jaw tightened, his gaze pleading with her in a way she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen before. "I’m—" The word hung in the air, unfinished, and her lips pressed into a thin line. Then came another.

The voice cut through the tension like a blade, sharp and commanding. Gjalla’s head turned sharply, her gaze narrowing as her packmate strode into view. She straightened, her periwinkle gaze flicking from Blackfell’s imposing form to the smaller but no less formidable she-wolf, Ice-Diver. 

“An excellent question.” Gjalla began coolly, her voice slicing through the crackling silence. “Claims he’s not here to waste my time— and yet...”  Her silence was deliberate, her piercing gaze waiting, demanding. If he thought she was going to make it easy for him, he didn’t know her at all. 

Her stare said it all. Go on.

he doesn’t flinch under the war chief’s glare, doesn’t bristle or snap. his tail lowers slightly. when he finally speaks, his voice is calm, rough, but lacking any trace of deference beyond what was absolutely necessary.

with all due respect, this is a personal matter.

and just like that, ice diver is gone from his focus, his crimson gaze shifting back to gjalla, locking onto hers like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. his breath hitches slightly, his frustration rolling off him in waves as his tail sinks lower, hanging limp near his hocks. he lets out a heavy sigh, the tension in his shoulders sagging, his posture deflating into something close to defeat.

he leans in until his nose brushes against her ear, if she allows it. a touch fleeting, hesitant. his voice, when it comes, is low and stiff, a harsh whisper meant only for her.

i'm sorry, gjalla. the words taste bitter on his tongue, but he forces them out, his breath brushing her fur as he pulls back just enough to meet her eyes again. he doesn’t look away, doesn’t blink, waiting for her to do... something. anything. his pride is a heavy thing to swallow.

Gjalla didn’t recoil from his closeness, though her body tensed imperceptibly, every instinct telling her to brace for what came next. The soft brush of his nose against her ear was fleeting, almost cautious. His apology followed—a harsh whisper that seemed to claw its way out of him, as if the words themselves fought against his pride. The words he whispered felt heavier than they should’ve, sinking into her chest like stones dropped into a frozen river.

I’m sorry, Gjalla.

Good boy.

Her gaze lifted to meet his, searching for cracks in the pride that had always kept him shielded. It was there—a chink in the armor, a subtle but undeniable fracture. “Thank you,” she muttered, her voice low. She stepped back, putting a fraction of space between them as she turned her head back toward Ice-Diver.

Gjalla finally spoke, her voice low and steady, though it carried a sharpness that matched the Chief’s. “You can rest easy, Ice-Diver. He is no threat,” she said, her gaze still locked with Blackfell’s. Her words weren’t an endorsement, not truly. They felt more like a challenge, a line drawn in the snow. “Staying, this time?”

she is displeased and does not hide it upon her features. yet nor does she wish to drive away one member from them. not that she exactly thought gjalla would be so quick as to flee into the arms of this brute.

a bullish snort — a caribou protecting its herd.

you want him to stay? it is a genuine inquiry and one she considers with a high lift of her head. he must become caribou hunter, if he stays.

or the taiga might devour him if the herds did not crush him first. she knew it would be a waste of strength, though, to outright turn him away.

his crimson gaze held steady, tracing the lines of her posture and the proud lift of her head. this woman didn’t mince words, didn’t soften them for comfort. fine by him.

his tail flicked once, dismissive, as his eyes shifted to gjalla. he spoke up, then, crimson stare passing over ice diver. i’m not afraid to work. a grunt, then, ears twitching.

staying wasn’t some concession to their whims—it was a choice he’d already made the moment he turned back for her. the caribou hunter title? fine. he’d wear it, so long as it meant keeping her in his line of sight.

just tell me what i need to do, he said, voice clipped.

Gjalla’s silence was a glacier—vast and cold, unmoving. She didn’t shy from Ice Diver’s scrutiny, nor the brute’s crimson gaze that flicked her way. Her expression betrayed nothing more than mild disdain, though her eyes carried a weariness that spoke volumes.

Did it matter what she wanted? This wasn’t about her, not truly. The pack moved as a single force; whatever grievances she held were insignificant in the face of its survival. 

“Do or don't, makes no difference to me.” she said at last. Her gaze swept over Blackfell, lingering only a moment on the set of his shoulders, the stubborn lift of his chin. “You want to stay? Then stay. But Ice Diver’s right—” Her lips curled faintly, almost a sneer. “You’ll earn your place here, same as anyone else.”

She turned to Ice Diver, nodding once, an unspoken agreement passing between them. This wasn’t her decision to make entirely, but she wouldn’t stand in the way. “He is capable enough. Let him prove himself,” she added, glancing back to Blackfell. “If the taiga doesn’t swallow him whole first.”

She wasn’t thrilled to see him here, wasn’t convinced he belonged. But the fire in his eyes, the determination to stay despite the odds.. she would let him try.

---

exit gjalla!

didn't know if you wanted me to go again!! ice diver is next but if star eater wants to hop in again, i have no objections! :D

gjalla’s words linger like acid in his throat. her leaving feels heavier than it should. his jaw tightens, muscles flickering beneath his onyx coat. so little ground he had managed to reclaim. and the wince on his face is fleeting, yet unmistakable. crimson eyes blink once before shifting from gjalla’s retreating form to the imposing figure of ice diver. and then, further still, catching a smaller, distant shape—a woman (@Star Eater) watching him as if he were the embodiment of hell on earth.

ice diver’s voice wrenches him back. blackfell’s ears twitch, flattening slightly as he meets her eyes. there’s no arrogance in his stance now, no trace of the smugness he’d worn like armor around gjalla. instead, his head lowers, his broad shoulders dipping just enough to show deference.

he’s no stranger to submission when it’s required, no stranger to the weight of authority pressing down on him. it had been beaten into him more than once by a father no more cruel than necessary, and had molded him into the soldier his father demanded. and so, he answers:

i’m at your command.

eyes narrowed faintly as gjalla withdrew, leaving the crownore man in the presence of ice diver. the war chief handled the situation well, her authority undeniable, but as the moment stretched, star eater moved to join her.

emerging from the shadows like a flicker of starlight, she brushed her side against ice diver’s, the contact a quiet show of solidarity and understanding. her gaze shifted to blackfell, assessing, calculating, but without the judgment he might have expected.

he will be a good addition, she murmured, her voice soft and molten, the words meant for the war chief but not hidden from the man in question. a strong hunter.

her gaze lingered on blackfell for a beat longer, her expression unreadable but not unkind. then, with a faint incline of her head to ice diver, she stepped back into the fold, leaving her presence to carry the weight of her approval.