Golden Glade mustgrave

the bite of his gaze held her like impassive stone: veins of ice fleck their surface. atoztli wonders if he looks at all of them that way.

she looks back to the burrows. mictec's orders. each gouge a neat scar against the frost-snared earth. hours of careful, dedicated work.

residual warmth pulsing between her paw and the kills. taking the fox, she bites deep and strips the tail from it.

spitting tufts of red fur between teeth, she points. for us all?