Duskfire Glacier widowsnest

keshka had heard him long before he spoke. the crunch of snow, the groan of ice beneath his weight. he was not a quiet man—no, he moved like a storm, heavy and inevitable.
she did not turn as he approached, only flicked an ear in acknowledgment, her eyes still cast over the frozen expanse before them.
she almost smirked. of course she did not. fear had no place in her heart—not anymore.
but then he asked.
her gaze shifted until it landed on him. not piercing, not cold, just watchful.
a man.
the words were simple. weighted.
for a moment, that was all she gave him. but then, after a pause, she tilted her head slightly, the scar along her cheek catching what little light the glacier offered.
what about your scars?
turning the question back on him, her voice was quiet, curious—but not gentle. nothing about her was gentle.