Duskfire Glacier uppsaluk

sorry so short, omg

Silvertongue bid claim to the bed of fur before them—Akavir’s eyes drifting from the man only to study the features of her exhausted face for a swift moment before tracing back to their current host. A talk of trade—an extended olive branch.

The Mayfair was exhausted not just physically, but marrow deep, now. “Tomorrow, then,” he agreed with an amenable tilt of his head. “Thank you for offering us shelter and food.”