Dawnlark Plains forge dust

uktark—faust beneath the skin—moved through it with a predator’s certainty and a man’s frustration simmering under the pelt. blackfell’s lost daughter was nowhere. every track he’d found ended in wind-churned drifts or vanished into stone where scent could not cling. he had failed to bring his brother what he sought.
so he turned back to the one thing that grounded him:
his @Moondancer.
her trail was lighter, laced with frost-bright notes, easy for him to follow even through winter’s hush. he tracked her through a stand of firs, through the bend where the snow broke clean over a fallen log, through the hollow where she had paused long enough for her breath to warm the air.
he carried a kill between his jaws—
a heavy-tailed rodent, fat on stored roots, snapped clean behind the skull. not the elk she preferred to chase, but enough to keep her fed while they searched together.
the cold gathered in the fur along his back as he stepped into the clearing where her scent deepened, fresh as new snowfall. his dark shape broke through the trees, steam curling from his muzzle as he dropped the kill at his feet.
his ears pricked.
his gaze swept the white expanse.
where was she?
faust rumbled low in his chest—
a sound meant for her alone.
just presence.
just shadow seeking moon.
he nudged the kill into better view and lifted his head, breath fogging.
he had not found the child.
but maybe she had.