Silver Moraine i am a result

you’re always productive—just rarely in ways that help anyone but yourself. his tone is dry, but there’s a flick of warmth beneath the grit. only jóra ever earned that.
when she speaks the name of @Faust, his ears twitch. the edge of his expression turns colder. he huffs.
figures. the bastard’s always been good at crawling out of the dirt. a pause. i've seen him. spoken to him.
he starts to walk again, slow through the snow, tail low and swaying behind him. saatsine’s where i am now. the highlands have grown soft. he leaves any specific details out. best not to damper his reunion with his sister by sharing his deepest, darkest troubles.