Duskfire Glacier absolute and pure

How impatient! The wraith had little patience for idle chatter, yet it seemed he was not alone in that sentiment. How ironic, that now, of all times, he required such things; not out of pleasure, but necessity. He had to know those who called themselves his kin, the pack he had bound himself to. Icy eyes lingered on the dark figure before him, expression cold, unreadable. 
Astier lowered his head ever so slightly, a gesture out of formality; „Astier,” came the name, smooth and low as distant thunder. „The pleasure is mine.” His gaze, pale as winter’s breath, traced the other’s rigid frame, sensing the simmering rage beneath the surface. A dangerous one, but useful, should Astier remain in his favor; which he fully intended to do.
„I would ask the same of you,” the wraith added, voice calm, deliberate. With practiced grace, he stepped toward the mouth of the cave, shadows curling around his pale frame, keeping a measured distance from the one whose name he had yet to learn.