Duskfire Glacier roakshore

his blood stirred.

good, he said finally, rolling his shoulders, shaking loose the stillness from his limbs. a hunt was always welcome. needed. there were few things more true than the chase, the kill.

he turned to faust then, meeting his brother’s gaze. his own glimmered dark beneath the sky, a slow ember behind iron.

let's run, then.

and with that, he moved—leapt from the ridge, paws finding the ice with effortless grace, already casting ahead.