The Bracken Woods I know what darkness means

faust studied them through the veil of the storm—two figures winnowed by wind and snow, one leaning heavily into the other. travelers, lost and worn thin.
he recognized the way the silver woman shrank against her companion, the wary bristle of the dark male’s hackles. neither trusted him. good. the north was no place for foolish trust.
aye, he confirmed, voice steady, even against the storm. the glacier.
he let the offer settle, his breath curling against the cold. you can wait out the storm there. shelter, food, a place to regain your strength. his eyes flicked between them, measuring. come, if you wish.
whether they did or not was their choice—but the north was cruel, and faust did not waste his breath on second invitations.