Duskfire Glacier you ever go hungry 'til you keeled over?

He did not speak, nor did he run as she drew closer. Steam like smoke rose from her nose, like she banked a thousand fires in the forge of her chest.

The warbling noise twanged an odd chord in her chest that could have been misshapen maternal instinct, yet another instinctual tripwire. Her wet nostrils flared, grown cracked by the cold, but she went forward, slowly, carefully, until she could reach out with her nose, just to touch the nape of the boy in front of her.