Duskfire Glacier demeter

he nudged her once, firm and brief, before turning away. it was not quite an embrace, not quite a dismissal—something in between. a silent acknowledgment. then he was gone, moving with the surety of someone who knew these mountains well.
hunting was not difficult here, not if you knew where to look. he did not seek anything large—she was no starving woman, no desperate thing in need of a feast. but she was tired, worn from the climb, and faust would not see her go without.
it did not take long before he returned, a young pronghorn hanging from his jaws, its small body limp and still. he dropped it before her, his breath curling in the cold air, watching her reaction with quiet expectation.
eat, was all he said, settling himself nearby, silent as the mountain itself.