Duskfire Glacier the gods call your name

he hears the thunder. it is a great shouting that vibrates within his ears, within his mind. a suffocating bell toll that rings. it rings! it rings! it crushes in. the rage. the violence.
the desire. blood must be repaid in blood. it would be.
gjalla's begging—oh, his wintersong. the heart, black as home in his heart, constricts. it pumps blood full of adrenaline to all inch of his body, which screams that he must conquer.
svalla's rallying cry. she runs.
star eater, there. here. the sheer fucking audacity of it. it takes all for blackfell to not yell, to not shout. she says it is her fault.
it is. he is glad she knows it. now she must fix it by saving his mate's life. this is what he says to her, lowly, when she dares look him in the eyes: yes. a hiss. you must undo.
blackfell steps aside, but it is faust there to stop him. the crashing of his head upon his, shields clinking together in the great union of battle. he grits his teeth, eyes flashing with momentary fury. he would take faust down if he had to! nothing would stop him! but then pause, as his mind clears. he hears his words. he breathes with him.
gjalla weakens, bleeding her ichor into the snow. more tainting the ground as the seconds pass. a whine, clear as the night and the soft fallen snow, echoes past the cage of his mouth. his bridgework tightening with terror. she cannot die, faust. words spoken into the snow between them. i will— words unfinished, words that do not need to be said. he moves from faust, slinking darkly towards the commotion. where star eater stares up at him, tears wrenching in those starwoven eyes.

he looks upon her now with great loathing. i will kill your husband come dawn.