Duskfire Glacier where the horned one sleeps

faust exhaled, long and slow. the kind of sigh that came from deep within the chest, from a place where weariness had settled like stone.
winsook has nearly declared darukaal an enemy after everything.
his voice was low, rough around the edges. the weight of it pressed heavy on his shoulders.
svalla had played her game, and now the consequences teetered on the edge of war.
his green eyes remained on the herds below, watching the calves stumble after their mothers. new life. new beginnings.
but the glacier was not so kind. not to him.
i do not know how to fix this.
he was not a man who easily admitted doubt, but here, in the quiet with satori, he allowed the words to settle between them. he could feel her warmth where she leaned against him, steady, present.
he did not look at her yet, but his tail flicked once—a small, subconscious gesture.