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Swift paws carried Satori through the frosted meadow towards where the woman healed. Since her arrival, the druid had not been able to rid herself of the scent of blood that clung to this corner of the glacier, and the guilt of letting whatever wounds she bore go unchecked.
"@Gjalla?" her voice was muffled around a bundle of herbs clutched between her teeth: sage leaves, elder blossoms - plucked from early flowers - and osha root. Thankfully, her knowledge of mountain flora had allowed her to gather anything and everything she might need. She stood now at the doorstep of the stormborn and shook dirt from between her toes, waiting to see what Gjalla might make of the visit.
Yesterday, 08:52 AM
the cold crept in through the seams of the shelter, winding through the stones like a serpent. gjalla lay still upon sparse furs, breath shallow, ears flicking at the distant sounds of the wind beyond the den.
her body ached, but she was alive. a bitter thing. vengeance unclaimed sat heavy on her tongue, but the rage that had kept her burning through blood loss had begun to dull, tempered into something colder. dawn, they had promised. she clung to the vision of sun eater’s throat torn open, of his lifeless body dragged to her feet.
then—movement. a scent, foreign but not unwelcome, soft compared to the scent of ichor, drifting through the open threshold. her ear flicked at the soft sound of paws, then a voice, muffled but clear in its intent.
gjalla’s eyes cracked open, settling upon the figure at her door. a woman. pale against the night, the scent of herbs clinging to her. a healer. she did not stir beyond that, only watching, appraising. “what do you want?”
her body ached, but she was alive. a bitter thing. vengeance unclaimed sat heavy on her tongue, but the rage that had kept her burning through blood loss had begun to dull, tempered into something colder. dawn, they had promised. she clung to the vision of sun eater’s throat torn open, of his lifeless body dragged to her feet.
then—movement. a scent, foreign but not unwelcome, soft compared to the scent of ichor, drifting through the open threshold. her ear flicked at the soft sound of paws, then a voice, muffled but clear in its intent.
gjalla’s eyes cracked open, settling upon the figure at her door. a woman. pale against the night, the scent of herbs clinging to her. a healer. she did not stir beyond that, only watching, appraising. “what do you want?”
Yesterday, 09:05 AM
A noise from within - not an invitation, not yet.
"Forgive me, I know we have not met," she began as yellow eyes peered into the darkness. She could not see much of her injuries from here, but the scent of blood was fierce. Did she bleed still? "Satori - may I come in?"
And she would wait. Gjalla had been through something no wolf should, and though Satori was not privy to much of the details beyond the involvement of the caribou killers, she found pity swell her heart all the same. She could set aside personal gripes if it meant the stormwoman might receive proper treatment.
"Forgive me, I know we have not met," she began as yellow eyes peered into the darkness. She could not see much of her injuries from here, but the scent of blood was fierce. Did she bleed still? "Satori - may I come in?"
And she would wait. Gjalla had been through something no wolf should, and though Satori was not privy to much of the details beyond the involvement of the caribou killers, she found pity swell her heart all the same. She could set aside personal gripes if it meant the stormwoman might receive proper treatment.
Yesterday, 02:37 PM
gjalla did not answer at first. she only studied the woman at her threshold, searching her face, the subtle lines of her expression. yellow eyes, keen and steady. a name. not one she knew.
her tail flicked once against the furs, slow and deliberate. she had no patience for the careful dance of civility, not when she lay here—useless, wounded, waiting. it made her restless. it made her angry.
“if you must.” the words left her flatly, not a welcome, but not a refusal. gjalla was not fool enough to deny a healer, not when she still felt the ghost of her own blood, warm against her throat, spilling over the snow.
her tail flicked once against the furs, slow and deliberate. she had no patience for the careful dance of civility, not when she lay here—useless, wounded, waiting. it made her restless. it made her angry.
“if you must.” the words left her flatly, not a welcome, but not a refusal. gjalla was not fool enough to deny a healer, not when she still felt the ghost of her own blood, warm against her throat, spilling over the snow.
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