Duskfire Glacier where the horned one sleeps

it cannot all be for nothing.
the words left him gruff, worn with exhaustion, but they held weight. they had to.
faust had fought too hard, bled too much, sacrificed too many pieces of himself to let it all unravel because of one reckless woman.
he exhaled sharply, nodding once—an agreement, a hope, a quiet acceptance. lousine had made her choice, foolish as it was. perhaps she would find her way. perhaps she wouldn’t.
but it could not all be for nothing.
he followed after satori as she moved, her presence a steady thing, constant despite the glacier’s shifting tides. she understood him, even when he did not speak. his nose brushed against the back of her hind leg as he fell into step beside her, a silent gesture—one of habit, of closeness, of trust.
his green eyes flicked toward the distant line of caribou she led him toward, brow furrowing slightly. what is it?
for the first time that day, his voice carried something that was not just weariness. it carried curiosity.