Sunset Valley Pǎnakär

faust tsked, a sharp sound of frustration cutting through the air. he held his breath for a moment, reining in the storm that brewed behind his glacier-green eyes. patience, he reminded himself. he could do this—had to do this.
you ran from me, he said, his voice low but steady, each word measured, like the pacing of a wolf circling its prey. why? the single word hung between them, heavy with accusation and curiosity.
he let his gaze linger on her, unflinching despite the cold glare she cast his way. you don't get to throw that at me and spin away like i'm the only wolf with blood on his teeth. his ears flicked back briefly, his breath leaving him in a visible plume against the frost.
but he didn’t chase her, not yet. he stayed rooted, watching her tense form, his voice dipping softer, though no less biting. you think i don't know what i am? i don’t need your forgiveness, ayovi. but don’t pretend you don’t know why you’re here.