Sunset Valley my lord my light

késhka moved like a shadow across the vast, open plain, the wind carving sharp against her exposed skin. snow stretched endlessly in all directions, unbroken save for her steady path and the long scars that marred the right side of her face—jagged, silvered reminders of a past best left buried.
she exhaled, breath misting in the cold air. no scent on the wind, no sign of shelter ahead. just white, endless and unyielding.
still, she walked.

AW; maybe @Iosef

the soldier stalked the borders, itching to sink his fangs into rogues that would make the mistake of crossing into faust's lands. itching to return to his brother with another head. he wanted the borders lined with messages? iosef would see it done. 

a scent is carried on the bitter cold wind. unfamiliar. it sets his blood on fire. with a soldiers determination he marches forth, long and sturdy limbs cutting through the snow with ease. 

a figure, pale and ghastly, against the backdrop of never ending snow. he approaches with a growl, his lips curled. a pretty woman with a scarred face. there was an inkling that perhaps she was tough enough to whether the storm, but he'd be the judge, jury, and executioner. 

"you trespass," he grunted. his accent deep, voice dripping with malice. "what you doing in blizzard, маленький волк?".

the wind howled across the empty stretch of tundra, stinging her half-ruined face, whipping strands of her pale fur into a wild tangle. the man before her was broad, dark, a wall of muscle and teeth, and she bristled at his approach, guard hairs rising along her nape.
késhka had known men like him before—men who spoke in low, rumbling growls, men who thought their size alone made them kings. she did not fear them. not anymore.
i don't know, she said, voice flat, unbothered, but not without an edge. she did not shrink beneath his glare, nor did she cower at the sharp bite of his tongue. instead, she flicked her ears against the wind, pale eyes watching him. assessing.
perhaps i'm looking, she added after a beat, a small tilt of her head. perhaps i'm lost.
she didn’t expect mercy, but she would not grovel. whatever fate he decided for her, she would meet it standing.

the scarred woman did not cower at his feet. she did not shrink into herself and plead for mercy—mercy he would not give. her gaze met his, and within her eyes was a silent strength. one he recognized, one he might even respect. 

he lumbered around her in a semi-circle. he would not spill her blood. he was judging her, assessing. she seemed fit. and she bore scars, a telling sign that she'd once endured great pain. 

a woman like her might do good, joining darukaal's ranks. but he would not be the one to make that decision. that he would leave for his brother in arms. 

"you follow me." he stated. no, demanded. it was not an option; she either follows or she dies. he will not let her wonder across this glacier, not alone. "test your strength. then maybe you no longer be lost."

he moved past her, carving through the snow. he wouldn't look back to see if she followed.

késhka’s lips curled into something between a smirk and a snarl. the cold bit at her exposed scarred flesh, but she was used to it—had long made peace with the sting.
follow you? her voice carried sharp skepticism, rough like gravel. her brow arched. i don’t even know your name.
her tail flicked behind her as she stood her ground. the man was a brute—imposing, powerful—but she was no lamb to be led blindly into the unknown. she had followed men before, and it had cost her half her face.
but there was something in his stride, in the way he spoke with certainty, that intrigued her. this was not a man wandering aimlessly. he had a purpose. and she… well, she had none.
for now.
with a huff, she took a few steps forward, falling into his trail. tell me your name, soldier.

iosef's laughter was a rough bellow from his nose, a thick plume of air to curl around his nostrils before it disappeared. he liked this scarred-woman's bite. it wasn't often he met women that had the balls to not only snap at him, but to challenge him. 

she was strong, he knew it so. but she'd still need to present to faust that she'd be strong enough to be welcomed into darukaal. he would not keep his hopes up; stronger men have failed to meet the challenge before. but perhaps there was an inkling that he'd like to see this woman rise, and not fall. 

"you have bite. this good. but watch your tongue around faust, мышь. or i take it." not a threat, least not directly. but a fact. if faust commanded such, he would not hesitate, even if he disagreed. 

she asked his name. "iosef. yours?" his eyes would linger upon her scarred face. not in disgust, but morbid curiosity. "did you kill them?" he rumbled, referring to whomever tainted her flesh. an eye for an eye.

her lips curled into a sharp grin—teeth glinting like daggers beneath the snowlight. there was no fear in her eyes, only the dark spark of amusement.
я не мышь, she purred, voice low, dangerous—like the rolling growl of a storm on the horizon. я кошка.
not a boast. a truth.
she let the words settle between them, heavy with meaning, before she added—smooth, despite the fray: késhka.
her name, spoken like a brand—meant to be remembered.
as for his question, her grin stretched wider, though it held no warmth.
i killed them all.

she speaks his tongue! his brows rose in surprise; pleasant, perhaps. he hadn't many anyone that spoke his tongue for seasons now. a throaty chuckle sounded from him. "не только кот. снежный барс." he dubbed her. beautiful, but dangerous. a black widow ready to beguile and strike.

she was full of surprises. he'd underestimated the woman; this he would not do again. he imagined then, how she would've snuffed her perpetrators. he hoped it was slow, brutal. that she would've left them choking on their blood.

his withers ruffled. that was a sight he would've loved to see. 

she had a name now, one he would remember. a glint of approval flashed within his eyes, which now stared down upon her with something akin to respect. those wolves had taken something from her, yes, but she'd taken their lives in return. 

"хороший. нам нужна такая охотница, как ты. у тебя все получится." he rasped. with heavier, more purposeful steps, he'd guide her to the glacier. to her new fate.

you can fade whenever!

keshka met his gaze, eyes cold, unreadable, but the faintest smirk ghosted across her lips at his words. снежный барс? she echoed, tilting her head slightly, considering. a fitting name. she would take it.
a nod. sharp. decisive.
she followed without hesitation, her steps light but certain, as if she had always walked this path, as if the glacier had been waiting for her all along.
тогда веди, she murmured, voice low, even.