Duskfire Glacier no rest for the wicked

fenris knew men like him.

he had fought them, bled with them, bled because of them. men who found purpose in death, who saw weakness as a sickness to be culled. he had met them in battle, walked among them in hrafnvaengr, called some brother. it was merely a matter of opinion.

iosef carried the scent of blood, though none fresh. he had been proactive in patrolling their borders.

fenris watched him from where he stood, still as stone, breath slow against the cold. he had seen the bodies. the pikes. the work of a man who found satisfaction in the breaking of others. there was no question that he was useful.

only that he was hungry.