The Wall Toome

the shift in her was subtle but telling; the tension in her frame had eased, her guard lowering just enough to betray her exhaustion. he could respect that, though it did little to soften the edge of his own expression.

your name? he said gruffly, the question a demand more than a request. his voice carried no malice, but the sharpness of it left no room for hesitation. he was not a man for pleasantries, yet something in him wanted to anchor this memory—this strange, icy woman against the backdrop of the wilderness.

she planned on going east. east. maybe the winds would carry them, or he'd track her down himself. an unlikely coincidence. but faust could play as a spearheaded, devoting man as long as he pleased. there was no telling what he could muster. rugged. underlying currents. he couldn't deny the ravensblood in his veins; cyclical nature of what a man would want. 

he was exhausted being a gentlemen. there was no promise of return, no lingering glance to suggest anything more. he stood then, approaching her against her shrouded position against the tree. a breath leaving him in the cold air, a cloud of heat. women follow strength.

When he rises again the huntress finds her head driving back against the tree, subduing a curl of lip with passes of tongue. Childhood hubris had faded with age, but still she defaults to hauteur when upset. She was very aware of their physical differences, and though Ayovi was well-bred she did not have strength to match the bite of her tongue– not in the presence of the mountain wolf. A stab of fear lends a clarity that cuts right through her pride. She could not know what lengths Faust would go to prove his authority here.
Nevertheless she licks her lips and presents defensive flashes of teeth from a side-swept muzzle. Her eyes avert, looking obediently away from his figure and off to a group of bare tree-trunks in the near distance.
“Ayovi,” she answers quietly, having no idea what notion she was supposed to take from his next words, preparing regardless if he meant to press his own upon her.

ice woman had a name.

a name that he could pronounce fluidly against his tongue. ayovi. it was not one that he had been familiar to, and he much rather preferred his own. iskava.

wherever she'd come from, she was raised well. batting her eyes away from him, but the fire inside of her raged with that flash of her teeth, stained with the blood of the doe. he flashed his own incisors, but didn't wish to demean her. silence her defiance instead.

i take you. he said through his clenched teeth. faust was never meant to stay on this summit, and was meant for the snow. forever-winter would entail that, would it not? he wasn't a man to seek being a savior, but it gave man a purpose. to provide. given that she could not hunt a meager doe, she'd surely starve in these conditions.

women don't go alone.

Ayovi, whose eyes have been wedded with the treeline, looks up at him suddenly. To her credit, she does not flinch though her mouth parts in sharp protest, “any pack that would have me will perceive a threat in you.”
She knew she had a better chance to grow back her strength with Faust than she did on her own. The luxury of thinking beyond the next day was not something she’d had in some time. But she also hadn’t escaped the clutches of Wide Fang to fall in with a lone man– particularly one she was wary of, who saw her as feeble. Whose motives were unclear.
“What demands will you make of me?” No man was truly so selfless. Not with women. Not in winter. She pins him with that skeptic’s glare, all pride rearing in spite of how tall and wide he looms.

his stoic face broke to a grin when she said they'd perceive him a threat. good. his towering stance was one to be revered, petrified of at first glance. but he swallowed his pride, the smirk. 

i leave once you find pack.

a simple transaction. it was, wasn't it? to his simple mind, there was nothing to argue about. her white furs against his own shadowed hue provided him a contrast to the snowy background— and against the tree, she sparkled. 

indeed. no man was selfless. especially not faust. if you're alone when your season falls upon you, he breathed, his nose reaching out to graze the underskin of her jaw. you have my cubs.

he thought he was rather generous. he provided a caveat, did he not? if she found someone. if. if, if. he pulled away with a snort of approval, giving her the space to accept his offer. 

i teach you to hunt. iskava need to learn. if you agree, but the sentiment was wordless.