Wapun Meadow in the way you're walking,

tvar feels her gaze, and he knows that she would steal his breath. in fear of being unable to speak, voice dry, he says nothing, and his silence is broken only by the faint crunch of snow underfoot. he is not a man used to such comparisons, such sentiments. "dark mountain." he says softly, letting his eyes swap towards her. much like the mountains she describes. tvar lets himself admire her openly, unafraid for her to see, for him to see. he feels an unfamiliar warmth bloom beneath his stoic exterior. she is pale as the snow around them, but her spirit burns bright, vivid in a way he cannot ignore.

you honor me, he says at last, letting eyes drape upon her. to remind you of such things. his gaze holds hers a moment longer before it shifts back to the trail ahead, his focus sharpening once more.

the scent of the deer is stronger now, pulling his thoughts back to the task at hand. tvar lowers his head slightly, his frame moving into a smoother, quieter gait as they approach. his muscles tense, ready to spring into action when the time comes, but his mind lingers on her words, on her presence at his side.

as the tracks grow fresher, tvar slows, his movements lacking the grace they had once upon a time. his sharp eyes scan the terrain ahead, and he tilts his head slightly toward her, speaking softly so as not to disturb the silence of the hunt. lead us, snowbird. i’ll follow. as he always would, if she'd let him. there’s so much he wants to say, but he swallows the thoughts for now. this isn’t the place. the future—their future—will have to wait. this is her moment. her hunt. and he will follow her lead, not out of obligation, but because he trusts her.

there’s no need for words now. the connection between them is enough. the dance of the hunt is enough. the chase, the kill, the shared triumph—it will have to be enough.