Duskfire Glacier tartok

faust stood over the kill, breath heaving, the scent of blood thick in the air. the calf had fought, but not well enough. nothing did, not against him.
he released his grip, lifting his head as the last twitches of life faded beneath his paws. gold-green eyes flicked to iosef, watching the way his muscles still coiled with the heat of the hunt, the way his breaths came quick, hungry.
you held back. his voice was rough, but not unkind. good. control makes the kill cleaner.
his tongue flicked against his teeth, tasting the iron that still lingered there. the rush of it had not yet left his veins, the thrill of the hunt still humming beneath his skin.
he looked at iosef then, the glint in his eyes sharp, measuring.
it’s a waste to revel in blood that’s already spilled. a pause. a knowing smirk. but next time, you take the kill.
he stepped back, gesturing to the calf with a flick of his muzzle. come. we drag it home.