5/4/2025, 5:02 AM
her gaze didn’t flinch when he stepped the final pace. he met her eyes and matched them—didn’t waver or narrow. he was brutish in the violent sort of way that women could grow to like. to want, perhaps. and want, she did, for he was like her. she was cut from something solid, just as he. mountainbone and northern-bred, carved from marble, finished with a nobleman's polish.
she saw the motion of his nose. a tilt, then pause. not the fumbling of a beast guessing at language, but a language already known. instinct. her eyes didn’t leave his as her head dipped slow—slow enough to communicate her understanding. yes. hunt.
gjalla stepped forward to round him. a soft chuff left her throat—barely a sound, more breath than voice. her paws moved without ceremony until her shoulder passed near his, just close enough to feel the breadth of him. big. warm. warlike. they wouldn’t need to speak.
she glanced once over her shoulder, then down the slope. a glimmer in her eye that wasn’t quite a smile, but close.
lead the way, she seemed to say. and if he didn’t, she would.
she saw the motion of his nose. a tilt, then pause. not the fumbling of a beast guessing at language, but a language already known. instinct. her eyes didn’t leave his as her head dipped slow—slow enough to communicate her understanding. yes. hunt.
gjalla stepped forward to round him. a soft chuff left her throat—barely a sound, more breath than voice. her paws moved without ceremony until her shoulder passed near his, just close enough to feel the breadth of him. big. warm. warlike. they wouldn’t need to speak.
she glanced once over her shoulder, then down the slope. a glimmer in her eye that wasn’t quite a smile, but close.
lead the way, she seemed to say. and if he didn’t, she would.