Duskfire Glacier absolute and pure

blackfell watches, unmoving. measures the weight of astier’s words, the dip of his head—not submission, but not a challenge either. a man who picks his battles wisely. good, then.
that is something blackfell can respect.
his tail flicks, a short, considering motion, and he steps to the side, just slightly, easing away from the invisible line he had drawn.
not yielding, but not pressing further. let him have it. his men would need their morale high in the coming days, yet at the time this was unknown to him. it was only a feeling.
he only grunts in response to astier's inquiry, choosing to ignore it. instead:
your name, he demands.