Duskfire Glacier tartok

pain does not make men. part of iosef was inclined to disagree. suffering was apart of a rough life, and those who lived through rough lives would come out strong. but he mulled on it for a moment or two; was that what he was groomed to believe? that all the suffering and violence he and his brothers endured was for nothing in the end? 

it roused something fierce in his chest. blooming, gnawing. angry. there was a time where was a pup, before he was stolen from his mother and forced to fight, that he might have been soft, kind. less of a beast and more of a man.

that child is no longer apart of him. severed at the umbilical cord, forgotten to time. a part of him he'd never get back, and now he wasn't sure if given the opportunity he'd take it. 

there's no point in dwelling. not now. there's a kindredness now, between he and faust. men cut from the same cloth. it reaffirms that iosef would follow him. that he would obey, and that he would fight for darukaal. 

iosef's gaze slides back to faust. he grunts, the corners of his lips tugging into a fleeting smirk. "always, brother."

he'd been given his orders. without another word he's surging forward, breaking into a canter that'd soon morph into a sprint, as they neared the herd. the caribou's bellows of panic sliced through the frigid air, followed by the drum of their hooves hitting the ground.

the youngest calf is the slowest, and iosef pursues it with vengeance. he snaps at it's heels, shepherding it away from the rest and towards the icy shelf.