Duskfire Glacier light guides nothing

AW

the wind carried their scent long before he saw them.
faust moved like a shadow through the snow-laden tundra, his breath a slow, steady mist in the cold air. ahead, the herd of oxen trudged through the frost-bitten grasses, thick-bodied and unbothered by the weight of winter. he counted them—one, two, three, four...—a small group, but enough. enough to feed his own.
his pace was measured, his steps careful. the oxen were not deer; they would not startle and flee at the snap of a twig. they would turn, fight, trample. he had seen it before, had watched the reckless die beneath hooves heavy as stone. this was not a hunt for the impatient.
he lowered himself into the drifts, keen eyes studying the largest of the beasts. the matriarch. take her, and the herd would falter. hesitate. that hesitation would be their undoing.
but faust did not move yet.
he would wait. he would watch.

the tundra stretched wide and open before her, a canvas of white and gray. she moved through it with a hunter’s grace—fluid, deliberate. she had not expected to find another lingering here, and yet the scent carried itself to her on the wind, crisp and unmistakable.

her eyes cut through the snowfall, dull gold catching on the shape crouched low in the drifts. a man, poised as if waiting for something to shift in his favor. jóra did not startle, nor did she announce herself with some meaningless pleasantry. instead, she prowled closer.

"stalking the beasts like a shade in the snow," she murmured, voice edged with amusement. her gaze flickered toward the oxen, their breaths rising in thick plumes. "they do not spook easily."

faust’s glare was sharp beneath the shadow of his brow, cutting through the cold like a blade. his posture remained still, rigid as stone, save for the flick of his tail against the snow.
who are you? his voice was low, edged with suspicion, as if her presence alone was an intrusion.
his gaze flicked briefly toward the oxen, then back to her. i don’t plan on hunting them. the words were firm, dismissive. if she had been watching him long enough to assume, then she had been watching too long.
he did not like being watched.

jóra did not balk beneath his glare, nor did she shrink from the suspicion within green irises. if anything, it amused her. she had always found wariness more telling than words—more honest. 

the wind stirred around them, carrying the frost-heavy scent of the oxen, the cold bite of winter, and the unspoken tension between them. "my name is jóra. i live nearby." 

his dismissal did not deter her. if anything, it only made her linger, the corner of her mouth curving slightly. not quite a smile, but something close. "good," she rang in response, "they kick hard."

faust's eyes narrowed slightly, sharp and unimpressed. does she think he's stupid?
i know, he said flatly, shifting his weight as he sized her up. tall, sturdy, unshaken by his glare. she wasn't some lost girl stumbling through his hunting grounds—she was here for a reason.
faust, he offered, his name curt and simple, like he wasn’t in the mood for introductions but was humoring her all the same.
his gaze flicked to the oxen carcass, then back to her. you live nearby, he echoed, voice laced with skepticism. how close? he didn’t like surprises, and he sure as hell didn’t like unknown neighbors sniffing around his kills.

jóra hummed, low and thoughtful. his name was given, short and clipped, and she filed it away without ceremony. faust. a name like a blade—sharp, efficient. vaguely familiar, if she thought hard enough. she supposed it suited him.

"close enough," she answered, offering nothing more unless he inquired further. it wasn't all that significant. her gaze flicked to the carcass, to the way his body angled between her and it, protective—possessive. a hunter guarding his spoils.

"i don’t make a habit of sniffing around another’s meal," she said, voice even, edged with quiet amusement. "but i do like to know who shares the land i walk."

she met his gaze, unwavering. "i suppose now i do," a pause, considering.

faust eyed her, unreadable, the weight of his gaze heavier than the silence between them. he did not trust easily—especially not women with the sharp glint of knowing in their eyes.
i plan to stay. his voice was rough, matter-of-fact. there was no uncertainty in his words. the land was harsh, but he was harsher. he had already begun carving out his place here, and he wasn’t going to leave.
his shoulders shifted, muscles taut beneath thick fur. there are others with me. women.
he said it plainly, testing for a reaction. lousine, satori. the thought of them lingered on his tongue, but he did not elaborate. jóra would draw her own conclusions, as all did.
his gaze flickered over her once more, sharp as a knife. you plan to stay? the question was not idle. he needed to know—was she passing through, or would she be another force to consider?

jóra had already decided she would stay, but at the mention of women, her interest sharpened. jóra liked women, and apparently this man had several. her ears twitched.

her jaw ticked imperceptibly, the word like honey on his tongue. that is something worth staying for. she did not ask for names, not yet. she'd figure that out herself. she would learn in time, one way or another. 

her gaze flicked to the land around them, vast and cold and unyielding. "yes." she would not mind some company, if only for a short while.

good, he said simply, as if her staying had been inevitable. his gaze flickered over her, a onceover. he did not yet know what she would bring to them, but he knew better than to turn down capable hands.
the glacier is ours now. his voice was firm, final. a claim not made lightly. you’ll meet them soon enough.
the women. they had followed him here, whether by choice or circumstance, and he supposed now he would have to make something of it. of them. of this place.
his eyes swept the horizon, the sky deepening into duskfire as he turned, prowling forward.
come. i’ll show you.

there was no hesitation in his claim, no room for question. the glacier is ours now. a bold statement, but not one she challenged. if anything, it only intrigued her further.

her gaze followed his, tracing the vast stretch of tundra. a slow breath curled from her lips, visible in the cold, before she stepped forward, unhurried but certain. "lead on, faust," she said, his name rolling smoothly off her tongue.

she had come here alone, but she had no intention of staying that way. her place in this land had yet to be carved, but she would carve it herself.