Duskfire Glacier one more test

the cold bit deep.
it curled through the glacier like a living thing, threading ice through faust’s limbs, sinking into the marrow of his bones. he welcomed it. let the fury that burned in his chest temper against the sharp bite of winter, let it keep him standing when he wanted nothing more than to sink into the snow and let the weight of it all bury him.
skorpa had refused.
it still sat like a stone in his gut. a fire that had no place to burn, only simmer beneath his ribs, eating at him from the inside. he should not have been surprised, but fuck, had he hoped. had he let himself think, even for a moment, that there was a chance to forge something from the ashes of their history.
he had been wrong.
he should not have begged.
he should not have let himself believe.
but dawn was coming, and faust had one last attempt to make.
his breath curled in the freezing air, the weight of battle pressing against the horizon. they were outnumbered. they were outmatched. and faust was not fool enough to go to war with nothing but pride and rage.
so he called for her.
@Svalla.
her name cut through the silence, carrying into the frostbitten dark. a command. a request. a plea.
he stood tall, squared against the wind, green eyes burning in the pre-dawn gloom.
if she answered, he would ask.
and if she did not—
then war would come regardless.

the night had been long. spent alongside gjalla, tending to her wounds. whispering feverish prayers in wildling tongue. begging for the gods above not to take her, and for them to bless darukaal with the strength for the war about to break, with the rise of the sun. 

the woman's wound was no longer bleeding. patched, tended too—it was not perfect, as svalla was a warrior, not a healer. but it would have to be good enough. 

and then faust's call for her cut through the northern winds. as sharp as any steel, and commanding. she would be at his side with haste, looking upon him with expectancy, with worry, and with determination to heed whatever he would ask of her. 

"what is it you need?" whatever it was, she would see it done.

the man.
his voice was hoarse, thick with the weight of exhaustion and the looming dawn. faust had not slept, had barely breathed since the night unraveled into something far beyond his control. his shoulders burned with the weight of it, but he did not buckle.
the winsook brute— the words were spoken between grit teeth, his mind racing even as he tried to piece the game together, tried to predict the next move. everything rested on strategy now. strength, loyalty, numbers. he needed more than what the glacier alone could offer.
who was he? his gaze lifted to her, sharp and seeking. can he fight?
if they had no allies, they would make them. if they had no army, they would build one. this war would not be fought blindly—he would see them through it, or he would die trying.

recognition flashed behind her sharp eyes. the man that would have taken her all those nights ago—dark and shadowed. it was he who Faust was seeking. 

lorcan. she remembers the pack wolves of winsook speaking to him, scolding him. and she would remember his scent; she would follow it like a hound, until she found him again. 

if the man could fight was not a worry, not to her. "i will make him. i will find him." svalla stated. there was no room for failure—if the man did not wish to fight, she would force him.

she knew what she must do. but before she would tear down the glacier to cross into winsook borders, she would surge forward to press herself against his side. to press their foreheads together in a wildling promise. 

"we will win this war, faust." she murmured in their tongue. do not worry.

and then, she was off. carving through the night as the white sparrow.

he did not stop her.
find any mercenary you can. offer them the hearth of darukaal's tradings. herbs, hides, meats.
the press of her forehead against his was grounding, a fleeting moment before she was gone, swallowed by the night. the promise lingered, thrumming in his chest, but worry was a beast that could not be tamed.
go, svalla.
his voice was low, firm, final. he watched as she disappeared into the dark, a phantom moving swiftly across the ice. she would find the mercenary. she would do what she must.
darukaal would not fight alone.