Duskfire Glacier [m] Tshärr

Restlessly she trails him, dismayed by his composure, “damnit Skorpa, how can you be so calm?”
The northman’s putrid scents coat them both. Blood; it is all she sees, on him and her both. Swathes of deep red line her coat, her paws, her belly, her mouth. And sickeningly she remembers how tightly she’d held him the night prior, how she’d left no space between them.
“I know how. It’s not your first time.” Now Ayovi follows the northman up the sculpted ice corridors and out into a single opening which blasts daylight upon their ice.
The huntress grits her fangs, winding her way forward to snap at the air near bloodied legs. Her eyes flare into blue hearths and she prays their fire is enough to cloak the true sheen of adamant fear. She shakes her nose, flicking fresh powder from ivory tresses. His own flames shake her nerve on their backing of midnight.
“You’ll leave. You’ll leave— and I’ll be left to do this on my own.”
It’s what men did.