The Wall Toome

faust’s eyes cut toward her, green as forest shadows and just as impenetrable. he had not flinched at her growl, nor did he lash back. instead, he let the silence settle around them like the snow underfoot, the kind of quiet that carried weight, pressing against the unspoken tension.

ayovi, he said finally, the name slipping from his mouth with an unfamiliar steadiness, as if testing its shape against his tongue. no bitterness laced his tone; it was simple acknowledgment. his teeth bared, it was not a question.

she did not have to be his wife to have his sons. 

finish eating, he stepped back from her, not hearing a 'no' leave her loose lips. we go now.