The Wall Toome

faust’s sneer curled his lip, revealing the faint flash of his teeth, a warning more than a display. i do not raid, he said, his voice a low growl, thick with disdain at her accusation. the idea alone was enough to spark his irritation, but the way she flung it at him, like a truth she already believed, made his blood simmer.

he stepped forward, his shadow stretching over the snow between them. his green eyes narrowed, locking on her cerulean ones with sharp intensity. there are no men. just me. his voice was clipped, his tone carrying the weight of his solitude like a shield. he stood alone—always had—and the thought of being lumped in with marauding bands made his hackles rise. ones not of his own making.

he let the words hang in the cold air between them, his gaze steady and unrelenting. she leaned against the bark like a wary bird, ready to flee or strike, but faust did not move further. whatever you think you know, he added after a moment, his voice quieter now but no less sharp, you are wrong.

whatever’s chasing you, he added, his voice dropping to a rough murmur, it can’t find you here. he met her gaze again, steady and firm, as though daring her to argue. not while i stand.