Larksong Grotto what gods desire

faust watched her.
she did not belong here, and yet she moved like she did, like the land had always known her. she smelled of blood and rot, a beast dragged from the belly of war itself.
he lingered at the edge of the grotto, eyes narrowed, shoulders squared. she was not winsook, not darukaal—but she was close to both, too close.
a gruff bark left him as he stepped forward, the glacier winds biting at his fur. you are close to winsook and darukaal.
it was not a question. it was a warning.
the one-eyed woman was watching, waiting. he had seen warriors like her before, touched by something older, something unshakable. but he would not yield the first move.
who are you? his voice was rough, curiosity edged with something sharper. and why are you here?

assuming backdated and italics denote her same language:)