Duskfire Glacier a matter of honor

faust watches them both, slow and steady like the tide rolling in. the story blackfell spills is weighted, every word laying down like stones upon his back. sun eater. the name is not new, nor is the poison that rides it. faust has heard it before—met the man before—and he knows the venom to be truth.
his muzzle dips, barely perceptible. i have met him, comes quiet. once.
then sulukinak moves, silent and sharp as always, and his pale gaze trails after her. he does not miss the flicker in her expression, brief as it is, as if blackfell’s face scratches at some old memory. perhaps it does. faust does not ask. not now.
when she returns, faust's gaze lifts to meet hers, and his nod is subtle. thank you, he says, and it is simple, but there is a depth to it. not just for the task, but for the silence. the steadiness. the way she does what is needed without question or complaint. he sees it. all of it.
his attention drifts back to blackfell. go, faust tells him lowly, with a faint jerk of his head toward where sulukinak waits. rest. you’ve earned that much.
then quieter, as the wind scrapes through the ice around them:
you’re safe here, cousin. for as long as you need.