---

she came here for the quiet. for the sky, for the way the stars burned so clean and bright, untroubled by the mess of living things. for prayer, if she did not wish to climb mountains. she did not come for men, or memories, or conversations left unfinished. certainly not for a limping roman with a mind full of orders.

to suggest that the woman had frequented this place on account of him would be an egregious assumption. an influence? well. best not to ask such questions.

still, she is already there when he arrived, half-curled near the crest of the hill, dark pelt dusted with frost, gaze tilted heavenward as if she had been counting the dead. she did not startle at the sound of his approach; she had smelt him long before he cleared the rise.

only when the snow cracks beneath his feet does she turn her face to him. roman, she greeted smoothly with the incline of his head.

---

gjalla's gaze remains lifted, fixed on a seam of stars just beginning to slip behind thin cloud, as if tracking something only she seems to see—not a constellation so much as the spaces between them, the black seams where meaning liked to hide. a breath leaves her nose, slow. controlled.

no words tonight, she says, pensive, though they do seem restless. the barest of smiles tugs at her lips, however brief. whatever meaning there is to it, she won't disclose—such secrets are meant for her own people. she doubted her would find great meaning in it himself.

she shifts at last, rising to her feet with a roll of shoulders to regard the man before her properly. but i doubt that is why you are here. you still owe me a hunt, she reminds him, tone even. . the corner of her mouth threatens something like a smile, never quite becoming it. it is not a demand, but fact—she hopes he is a man of his word.

---

gjalla studies him a moment longer than necessary. she circles him once in appraisal. predatory, perhaps, but professional. her gaze roves over him, checking lines of balance, the set of his shoulders. a commander’s eye in a queen’s skull.

when she stops, it is at his side, gaze lifted back to the stars. come. she says simply, starting down the slope. are you strong enough to fell a doe, or must i confine myself to smaller game for you? she teases.

---

you will survive, i'm sure. she retorts, satisfied enough. decidedly, she angles them downwind and away from the open hill until the slope takes them into darker cover. she does not glance back to check on him.

soon the land swallows them, and eventually she comes to a halt at fresh tracks—a mess of prints all over. seeing the opportunity to test her companion, the woman cranes her neck to the roman beside her. look. which way do they lead?

---

gjalla’s ears cant back a fraction at his answer. she lowers her muzzle to the churned snow herself, drawing in the layered scents, letting them sit a beat before she lifts her head again. north, she agrees, matter-of-fact. then, after a breath, a rabbit will do little to fill a belly.

she steps past him, shoulder brushing his lightly as she takes the lead again, already committing to the deeper trail. the trees thicken, swallowing what little starlight follows them. stay wide when we close, she adds over her shoulder. we should aim to take the one most isolated.