Larksong Grotto what gods desire

maybe.
it was all faust offered, the word low, flat—without the weight of either confirmation or denial. he did not entertain the thought further, nor did he linger on the amusement that flickered across ayovi’s features.
his attention turned back to the one-eyed woman, to the scent of blood thick in the cold morning air. she was odd, that much was clear. a creature untethered, moving not with caution, but with conviction, as though her gods had led her here themselves. faust was not a man of gods. but he had met enough zealots to know better than to dismiss them.
following the herds, nothing more. his head gestured northward, where caribou would soon begin their migration. it was not a lie, not entirely. they would feed, they would track, they would move with the land. and yet, there was something unspoken beneath his words, a deeper purpose that he did not lay bare before them.
he did not threaten.
i do not threaten, he added, his voice steady. it was a truth. he had not come to winsook’s borders for war.
he met ayovi’s gaze, something unreadable behind his green eyes. she had questions, surely. he would not answer them here. not yet.
i am the kaan of darukaal. faust. well met, aspa. he didn't waver from ayovi's gaze, anticipating her own introduction.