Silver Moraine multieyed raven

they move through frost-bound terrain. he meets faust’s gaze briefly, eyes darkened, shadowed with thought.
maybe that’s why i envy you, he murmurs, voice rough-edged with honesty. a rare confession, heavy with quiet envy, heavier still with yearning. you have been free your whole life. i do not complain, of course, tvar's eyes seem to grow misty as he looks into the distance, i was a prince. the future of the north. men cowed at my feet the whole of my adolescence. me! a boy of one year. his laugh is hearty at the thought, because it was ridiculous. then, serious again: but i did not realize how sorely i stood out amongst our father's trueborn children until the day i found out i was not like them. tvar laughs.
but his eyes are cold. i wish he had not taken me, that day.
his eyes return to the caves ahead—safe havens carved into ice and stone, offering shelter, strength. a fortress built from resilience, rather than duty.
but you’re right. she carries my blood, he acknowledges quietly, solemn now, resigned but unafraid. that is all that matters.
a pause, breathing slow, purposeful.
we each choose our battles, faust.