5/10/2025, 4:14 AM
she pauses with him. for a breath, two, she says nothing. just watches the back of him, the blood staining pale fur.
when she finally moves, it’s without rush. steps around him slow until she can see the damage for herself. it’s worse than he lets on—of course it is. his left eye is gorged from the socket, a foreleg ruined in a way that left him limping. thrúd snorts. men.
when she finally moves, it’s without rush. steps around him slow until she can see the damage for herself. it’s worse than he lets on—of course it is. his left eye is gorged from the socket, a foreleg ruined in a way that left him limping. thrúd snorts. men.
don’t flatter yourself.the girl scoffs.
you are lucky these aren't infected yet, sulking bastard.she turns from him without ceremony, padding a few steps toward dying underbrush, where the snow is thinnest beneath the trees.
then sit there and rot, if it suits you. or follow, and maybe you will keep that leg of yours.an exaggeration, aimed to bring him closer.