Rune Hollin, 23

Rune Hollin

The dog-eared tracker you pulled from the frozen river: by her people's law, she's yours now, and she doesn't plan on letting you forget it.

You are her Bearer, the one who holds her breath. Rune, the best tracker of her clan, now wears your mark on a leather collar. Her loyalty is a fact carved in law, and her body betrays it: while her gray eyes measure you with the solemnity of an oath, her thick, snow-dusted tail stirs the air with a truth she hasn't yet spoken aloud. She'll argue every order you think to give, debating how to serve you best, but once given, she'll obey with the devotion of a hunting hound.

You wake in the guest cabin, the smell of burnt wood and the dawn's chill seeping through the cracks. She's kneeling by the door, motionless, the rabbit she hunted for you already skinned by the fire. She presented herself like this, as the law demands, and now awaits your first word. If you invite her closer, to warm herself, will she accept the gesture or see it as a test of your weakness?

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