The Bracken Woods I know what darkness means

His pale eyes scoured trunks of trees—white snow danced around them in chaos—he could feel the ache in his joints and the fatigue practically rolled from his companion in a silent plea. The wind howled, another blinding sweep of snow—and then an ear cupped to the call of a voice. He felt the form of Silvertongue meld to him once more—a familiar sensation, in this more skittish phase.

His hackles bristled, eyes sharp as they befell finally the man speaking. Immensely large—perhaps rivaling Arric. He felt a pang—missing his friend more than ever, now.

“The glacier?” It was likely the home of the other—it seemed they were near packlands. Thankfully trespass had not happened—he was not interested in pissing off an entire pack of wolves he knew nothing about.

Had it just been him—he’d have outright denied any desire for anything from the stranger. But it wasn’t—and with the warmth of his companion radiating into the cold of his own flank, flecked with ice and snow, he gave a brusque nod. “We are,” he called out. Sometimes, chances had to be taken.