Duskfire Glacier mitqiaq

the seaside was her refuge for weeks; however a steady pull took her north, then northeast, arcing a path through territories beyond the teekon, until a path became familiar again. did she find what she hunted for? sulukinak was unsure—and so her wandering continued.

after spending a night and a day crossing towards the glacier from this north-most point, then an evening of clawing across the ice, she found herself upon a frigid permafrost which had her mentally flashing back to the everdark.

the wind curled sharp between the stone, bitter and biting, but it was not the cold that stirred faust from his patrol. it was the scent—thin, foreign, bleeding into darukaal's claim like a festering wound.
he found her with a shadowed gaze, rising from the frost like the mountain itself, broad and hulking. snow clung to his dark coat, his breath spilling heavy into the frozen air as his emerald eyes cut across the browning figure trespassing upon his land.
a growl simmered low in his throat, guttural and unkind.
what do you seek here?
the words snapped like brittle branches, his lip curling to bare a flash of teeth.
he took another step closer, heavy and deliberate, the weight of darukaal's blood humming in his chest.

she was usually so perceptive. having a well cultivated hypervigilance was a boon; except for the past fortnight it was as if this quality to her psyche had been diminished, so when the man rose from the ice like some forgotten homunculi, sulukinak remained blind.

his voice shocked her, and the dense black hairs of her nape puffed. teeth meant danger—but this was also a diminished sense, somehow. the sight of the man, healthy and dominant, sent a thrill through her skin.

the ice, it calls to me. sulukinak did not know how else to explain her wanderlust of late; she held a limited, superstitious, spiritual understanding of her own bodily processes—unaware what she had been hunting until she saw this monster of a man; something instinctual told her he was perfect for her aims.

even after this sudden capture of his attention, sulukinak should have followed the instinct of self-preservation and fled the scene rather than listening to this newer, secondary urge: drawing soundlessly closer to him.

faust’s gaze lingers over the glacier, the slow breath of winter curling from his lips like smoke. this place... it has taken so much. given little in return but the bite of cold and the silence of snow. but it is his. carved by his own hand, kept by his will alone.
and now, this girl.
he turns his head. his eyes find her—medium, brown, wild around the edges like something the storm coughed up and left at his feet. a tilt of his head follows, faint as a breeze, as if studying whether she is real at all.
the ice calls to many, he says at last, his voice rough as the stone beneath the frost. most die tryin' to answer.
his gaze sharpens, reading the way she drifts closer like a leaf on the wind, as if he were not the threat she should take him for. he does not step back. does not soften.
you’ve come far to stand at my doorstep. he glances once more to the glacier behind him, its pale sprawl gleaming beneath the weak sun. this is darukaal. we don’t take in ghosts or strays without reason.
and then, with something like grim curiosity, steady as the cold:
what exactly are you seekin', girl?

her mother's face flashed to mind then, blood in her teeth and eyes wide; why? of all things to be shown, the shaman woman was the farthest from sulukinak's heart.

the man looked to the glacier but the shadow was not drawn there now, and seemed to flow beneath the plume of his breath. uninhibited. what did she want?

...aitchuun. as her mother's muradoii word flit across her tongue, she felt the familiar spike of anger heat her blood, spreading through her skin as her own breath winnowed thin and silver through the air. breathing in sharply, sulukinak forces the witch from her mind.

the air is sweet, the gap between them narrow. she was not her mother. she was not her mother and this man was not hungry for her or anything—it wasn't the same.

so she reasoned, so she lied.

faust narrows his eyes, ear flicking at the word she speaks, sharp on his tongue and sharper still in the quiet between them.
aitchuun?
he doesn't know what it means. doesn't know what weight it carries, but the way it leaves her lips—like something bitter and burnt—tells him enough. it's not for him to understand, maybe. but he watches her just the same, steady and unreadable, the way he might watch a wounded animal deciding whether to flee or bite.
don't know what that is, he rumbles low, voice rough as the stone beneath his paws.
his gaze drifts once more to the glacier, then back to her, holding her there with the same quiet authority he holds over darukaal.

he did not appear receptive. how had nukilik drawn so many men to her hearth? they had been needy, desperate. this one was the opposite: master of the domain upon which they stood. he carried the scent of women a few times over.

sulukinak had made a mistake. the ice called to her but it was not here, not this place. this man had enough bounty around him - this glacier was not as hungry as the everdark.

pulling herself from his company, she moves - thinking herself sly - and attempts to disengage. she pauses to appraise the landscape in mimicry of him.

if he moves at all, the shadow will only sweep away with greater insistence. the lingering sweetness of sulukinak's changing scent pales in comparison to the man's own, and she will know which paths to avoid as she goes.

faust watches her shift, that silent little glance at the horizon, as if she thinks she can slip away without notice. he knows the look—seen it too many times before in wolves that thought distance would keep them safe.
his paw moves before the thought finishes. a step forward, broad and quiet, snow crunching beneath his weight as he cuts her off.
wait.
the word comes rough, edged like a stone turned over in his throat. part of him says let her go. another says turning away able bodies—especially a woman without a pack—would be a damn fool’s mistake.
he studies her, reading the tension in her shoulders, the stubborn set of her jaw. it’s like she already knew he'd stop her.
he exhales through his nose, slow. you can stay, faust says, simple and final. long as you hunt.
there's no kindness in the offer, not exactly. but it’s not cruel, either. survival, plain and simple. her scent doesn't carry the weight of a claim. she’s driftless, like so many others these days.
he flicks his gaze back toward the glacier, the quiet promise of shelter somewhere behind him.
don’t make me regret it.

danke! fade here & title her? :D

his word makes her pause, a step held frozen above the snow. as this slowly descends, and he grants his invitation, sulukinak considers it.
as long as you hunt.

the crunch of her palm in to snow.

turning subtly towards his claim, she disembarks again—this time she does not go away, her body a flowing shadow over ice and stone as she picks her path through darukaal.