Duskfire Glacier Arvīge

The ice yields a man. Dark, tail flagging, familiar.
By contrast, Ayovi slows, settling herself with delicate aplomb, overly aware of Skorpa’s swell within her belly.
The dark man’s face is youthful; arrogant; smart. He’s familiar.  Ayovi  studies him for a time.
“I’m here to speak with Faust,” she informs him, the swift light in her eye exuding annoyance; revealing also her lack of patience to converse with anyone else.