Silver Moraine multieyed raven

for a moment, faust doesn’t believe his own eyes. the wind carries a scent he hasn’t felt brush his senses in seasons, in years, and when he lifts his head from the silver stones, it's as if the mountain has conjured the ghost itself.
but no—no ghost could hold such weight, could wear that same familiar face, worn by time but still cut from the same stone.
brother! faust bellows, his voice rolling down the slope like thunder. before thought can root him still, he’s surging forward, heavy limbs pounding against the earth until he crashes into vahaelarr with all the force of youth reborn. a tackle, rough and without care, laughter chasing the sound. not a man who laughs often, but now it breaks free like a dam undone.
he shoves his head against the other's shoulder, breath warm and ragged from the rush.
what in all the frozen hells are you doing here? he rumbles, pulling back just enough to look him over, as if making sure he's real. thought i'd never see you again.