Duskfire Glacier northbound

he watches her go with a snort through his nose, like some grizzled old warhound who's too tired for games—except he's not. not when it's her. not when it's svalla tearing through the snow, her laughter slicing clean through the cold like spring breaking over the ice. gods, he'd missed that sound. missed her.
you never could outrun me, he calls after her, already lunging forward with heavy paws pounding against the frozen ground. his legs stretch long, muscles rolling beneath his thick coat, the breath steaming from his mouth as he falls into the chase.
it feels like childhood again. the years peel away as easily as the wind cuts over the glacier, and for a moment, just a moment, he's not faust of darukaal, not the chieftain, not the man with ghosts stitched into his spine.
he's just the boy chasing the only girl who ever understood him.
he pushes harder, coming up on her flank, grinning like the bastard he is. and when i win, wildling, he huffs between breaths, you'll owe me a night by the fire. telling me what you’ve been doing all these damn years.