Duskfire Glacier mahtar

they are nomadic, from what i understand, faust said, his voice even, steady as the frozen ground beneath them. he did not waste words, did not fill the silence with anything unnecessary. the weight of war pressed heavy upon his shoulders, but he bore it well.
they simply hunt the caribou—until they did not. his green eyes flickered with something sharp, something bitter. blackfell is my cousin. gjalla, his wife. mortally wounded by the chieftain of saatsine.
a slow breath. a measured exhale. he had already repeated this too many times, but the more he spoke it, the more the rage solidified in his chest.
from what i understand, he continued, it takes very little to anger him.
the words were spoken with a grim sort of finality. a monster had been allowed to roam unchecked for too long, and now, the consequences were bleeding into their lands, staining the snow with fresh war.
what drove them to strike? astier asked.
faust's lips pressed together, jaw clenching as he thought. pride, he finally said. and weakness.