a pleasure, journey stormborn.thrúd echoes, mouth tilting crooked at the edge. less a smile, but recognition.
where i am from, that makes you a princess.she had the shape of it, looked the part. familiar strong stride, confident. no flattery is needed, really. it is merely truth. she moves like the north. like the old blood.
at her question, thrúd hums low, almost thoughtfully, gaze flicking toward the stretch of land behind them.
no. it doesn’t,she agrees, a rare softness shaping her voice.
snow is snow. the soul knows what to do.