Duskfire Glacier testing my patience

many things, svalla.
his voice was a quiet storm, thick with all that could not be spoken. the past, the weight of it, the things they had both lost.
her fire had never frightened him, not when they were cubs, not when she threw herself at the world with teeth bared. but now—now it burned in a way that singed him through.
she thrashed in his hold, and he did not let go. instead, he pulled her closer. tighter. until the heat of her fury tangled with his own, until there was no space left between them.
you think i do not wish to be a cub again? his breath was ragged, sharp between his teeth, but his hold remained steady. chasing our tails and butting heads?
he wanted to shake her, to make her see.
you are not alone in your grief, svalla!
his voice cracked with the force of it, roaring through the cold, through the ice and the distance she still tried to place between them.
you are not!
his muzzle dipped, breath hot against the frigid air as he pressed his nose to her chest—a moment’s surrender, a single beat of something tender amidst the wreckage. a kiss, but not one of romance. one of remembrance. of who they had been, who they still were.
i am the boy you knew.
his voice dropped to something quieter, something raw.
i am right here.