Permafrost Hollows I cannot stay where nature's embrace is lost

up close, recognition comes. he has seen that face, the gold cloak, the eyes of flaming evergreen. a ghost of blood and name, something long buried.

he had thought he'd seen the last of his cousin long ago.

blackfell tucks the revelation away, filing it in the depths of his mind for later. he is in no mood for familial reunions now, instead, choosing to be content with what unfurls before him. faust does not want help? so be it.

blackbird chooses to circle instead, eyes of crimson never straying too far from the man of black and gold. watching the way his desperation makes him reckless; the woman is in no immediate danger, and yet he toils as if death is seconds away.

he barks a half laugh, half comment: i suggest you listen to your woman.