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last thread in the alpines, i think a final visit to saatsine is fitting—plus a chance to tie up loose ends; seeking Cen or leadership members but any welcome!

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snow scours the forest against stone and sand alike. and the land smells of old blood and frozen memory, and gjalla moves through it alone. she should not be here. every instinct, every lesson, every ancestor’s whisper warns her that this is saatsine land—that she should simply stay away, and yet the pull is magnetic.

fragments of memories claw at her mind like a big cat raking claws down bark: a child’s scream, teeth at her throat, a life ripped in half. unfinished debts and unspoken sins passed off to her for like gifts she didn't ask for.

gjalla is not one to leave a debt unsettled. not even one she did not understand in the first place. and so...

...

she pauses atop a ridge, tail low, nostrils flaring against the cold. the scent of him and others ahead is strong. scent markers, old and new. she does not move forward out of fear; she moves forward out of necessity. curiosity warps into strategy, and strategy into survival. the story is unfinished, and for the sake of avoiding enemies with ignorance, she must learn it—on her terms.

[gjalla. an eternity and yet no time separated them. cen wished to crush her. he wished to taste her thoughts, and was bruised at his own contemplation. the sunburst scar she had torn in another life pulsed hot and softly pink upon his shoulder. where she stepped so did he follow, until noiseless tread trailed betraying woman through winterscar land, until he at last straightened to stand stark against the expanse of white. caribou panted; lowed; cen wondered if once more this all would be blows, and flashed fangs as longstep carried him in her direction. kaedra had not come back, and cen thought in verve that surely these two had spoken.]

gjalla.
an eternity and yet no time separated them.
cen wished to crush her. he wished to taste her thoughts, and was bruised at his own contemplation. the sunburst scar she had torn in another life pulsed hot and softly pink upon his shoulder.
where she stepped so did he follow, until noiseless tread trailed betraying woman through winterscar land, until he at last straightened to stand stark against the expanse of white.
caribou panted; lowed;
cen wondered if once more this all would be blows, and flashed fangs as longstep carried him in her direction.
kaedra had not come back, and cen thought in verve that surely these two had spoken.

her gaze cut sideways across the tundra’s vast glare, landing on the dark shape of him. the distance between them was a palpable tension, a near tangible line drawn through the snow. some part of her wanted to bristle, to meet heat with heat, but saatsine soil was no place for bravado. not when his kin could be hidden in the pines or crouched behind stone.

her head tilts, ears fanning back against the wind’s snarl. her breath steams between them: i've no interest in fighting you, cen. they both knew how it could end. the scar she’d left—pink and ugly against his shoulder—seemed to burn in the weak light, and guilt, or something close to it, knotted deep in her chest.

the woman's tail stirs against the snow, a slow sweep. "you said my family owes a debt, —and in defense of her honor,—perhaps it should be repaid. let us be done with it now, rather than live in resentment.

[for a long moment cen did not speak, and then the cruel face contorted into a mocking look. you will be slave, gjalla? you will let me take eye? for these things were how enmity had been settled before. he and gjalla had ruined one another with wounds for a time. recovery granted to both, and now this land forcing them together. perhaps she was right. perhaps it was better should she submit and this all be over. darker -- to saddle her with lanzadoii children sired by one of his choosing, but he did not want their blood mingled again for any reason. to what ends would gjalla bear the brunt of what her lineage had done? what they had taken? he did not want her here, near caan, near fa'liya; he did not trust her, and yet the taste of revenge was rich and fierce in his mouth.]

for a long moment cen did not speak, and then the cruel face contorted into a mocking look. you will be slave, gjalla? you will let me take eye? for these things were how enmity had been settled before. he and gjalla had ruined one another with wounds for a time. recovery granted to both, and now this land forcing them together. perhaps she was right. perhaps it was better should she submit and this all be over.
darker -- to saddle her with lanzadoii children sired by one of his choosing, but he did not want their blood mingled again for any reason.
to what ends would gjalla bear the brunt of what her lineage had done? what they had taken? he did not want her here, near caan, near fa'liya; he did not trust her, and yet the taste of revenge was rich and fierce in his mouth.

make me a slave? the word left her mouth hollow, incredulous. take my eye? a low sound built in her throat—half laugh, but it died before it could form. she took a slow step forward, then. it is not as threatening as is it pointed—firm. a point being made. she remembered the head she delivered to his feet, seemingly at his command. surely, the gjalla you know was not so meek. surely you've not forgotten what i am. you think I would come here for that?

it wasn’t anger that fueled her, but confusion thick as mud. everything he said was like striking flint against memory, flashes of light that never quite became fire. pieces she couldn’t fit together—their conflict, his hatred like an old scar reopened—all of this hate when she does not even know the cause.

i don’t know what you think i did, she said at last. whatever crime you condemn me for isn’t one i recall. there was no malice in it, only tiredness—an exhaustion. tired of running laps around the same unanswered question. what had driven this rift?

you must tell me, sun-eater. the truth—the whole of it. tell me what it is that i’ve done. though she stood with her chin high, there was an unspoken thread in her voice—a plea, faint but real. not for forgiveness, but for clarity. for something to make sense of in the storm of her thoughts.

[no, cen did not think gjalla would submit to these hurts, and that was why he did not know why she had come. you and blackfell man defy me. side with morwenna. you support blood over clan. over me. over what you say is loyalty. it was her, not me. it is why we fight. then she try to turn saatsine against me. plot behind back. leave our children hours after they take first breath. go to my enemies. to you. he shrugged lightly. she choose blood also. all children suffer because she want to be queen again. now you come here, again. you seek for me when i not seek for you, cen rumbled. you bring me to this place again. i blame you for all what happened, the chieftain spat. for her too. for all of your people. what do you want, gjalla? i not send hunters to find you. i not kill you the day you come and tell me how strong morwenna was. mercy. cen stepped forward and now their breath truly mingled, their eyes locking. but i say before: your family owe blood debt. will you pay, gjalla?]

no, cen did not think gjalla would submit to these hurts, and that was why he did not know why she had come. you and blackfell man defy me. side with morwenna. you support blood over clan. over me. over what you say is loyalty. it was her, not me. it is why we fight.
then she try to turn saatsine against me. plot behind back. leave our children hours after they take first breath. go to my enemies. to you. he shrugged lightly. she choose blood also. all children suffer because she want to be queen again.
now you come here, again. you seek for me when i not seek for you, cen rumbled. you bring me to this place again. i blame you for all what happened, the chieftain spat. for her too. for all of your people. what do you want, gjalla? i not send hunters to find you. i not kill you the day you come and tell me how strong morwenna was. mercy.
cen stepped forward and now their breath truly mingled, their eyes locking. but i say before: your family owe blood debt. will you pay, gjalla?

this is honestly all word vomit, hopefully it makes sense. don't feel obligated to swing either way decision wise? i definitely should've had this planned a little better for her timeline i_i

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he was close enough now that she could smell the bitterness clinging to him, the musk of his furs, the faint metallic tang of something like iron and smoke. you and blackfell man defy me.perhaps they had. perhaps she had, once. you did this, you betrayed me, you chose her. chose blood over clan.

the gift of context lifts the veil of confusion, if only in part. gjalla has never acted without reason. of this, she is sure—and though there must have been a reason behind her apparent disloyalty, he would not tell, and she would not pry an already aggrieved man for it, so she must take it at surface level.

always morwenna, who brings out the worst in her.

she let him talk until snow and silence swallowed them both, ears canted forward to listen. the woman did not bristle when he inched closer, though instinct begged her to. he was closer now, close enough that she could see every ridge and line of scar tissue in the socket of his missing eye. his breath burned against the cold, heavy with accusation and history, dancing with hers until she could hardly tell which air belonged to which.

her gaze flicked briefly to the horizon—the vast lake stretching like a blade of glass, the tundra endless. finally, she drew a breath, stealing the mist from his mouth. i was disloyal, yes? she murmured, then allow me to try again. i have no allies, no friends, no great army to raise against you. put me through trials, test me as you please. i would be yours to call upon when you need me.

or tell me to leave, she said. and i will. i will walk until my scent fades from these wind and my name no longer burns in your mouth. but i need to know this feud will not be passed around for generations. that it ends with us.