The Wall Toome

faust watched her from above, emerald eyes narrowing as he took in her fragile frame struggling against the mountain’s grip. a creature born of softer lands, he thought, with her thin limbs and delicate build, so out of place here among the rugged peaks that had forged him.

the mountain was no place for weakness, and yet there she was, her pale figure a ghost against the unforgiving stone.

he moved silently, his calloused paws gripping the rocks with practiced ease, the climb effortless for one who knew the mountains as an extension of himself. as he descended toward her, the faint sound of her labored breathing reached his ears, a stark contrast to the resolute quiet of the peaks.

you’re no daughter of these ridges, he rumbled, voice low and laced with disdain. he stood above her now, towering in the fading light. what are you doing here? trying to get yourself killed?

his gaze swept over her again, lingering on her trembling legs and hollowed sides. he clicked his tongue against his teeth, a sound that was neither kind nor cruel.

get up, he said, tone brooking no argument. if you’re going to die, don’t let it be groveling on these stones. a kindness?