Silver Moraine kill

faust’s ears flicked, catching the heavy rhythm of hooves scattering like stones across the ice-packed earth. his gaze swept over the bodies, quick and calculating, until it landed on the faltering figure—the weak one, the easy one. his chin lifted in a silent command, the faintest nod sent toward tikigâk as his breath huffed out in a cloud.
there, was all he rumbled, low and certain. their target was chosen.
he moved like water over stone, sure-footed, shoulders rolling with each bound as he carved along the edge of the herd, pressing their quarry tighter into the trap. he trusted her flank, trusted her strength without question—a rare thing, and not gifted lightly. but she held her ground, kept pace, her own precision as honed as the edge of a blade.
and so they worked. two shadows circling, closing in. faust drove from behind, tightening the noose while she surged forward to steer. the stumbling beast tripped again, and his pulse sharpened. nearly.
keep it there, he growled beneath his breath, more to himself than her, though he knew she’d hear. we end it clean.
he fell into step beside her, shoulder brushing shoulder as they ran—no space between them now, their strides a mirrored rhythm. a pair of storms. a pair of wolves.
the kill was close.