Shadowwyn Moor Broken Crown

from the ridge above, the blonde man stood—still like stone, but eyes alive with sunfire and wind. he had heard the call, low and thick with something old. something broken. a sound of loss. it made his chest ache some, though he did not know why.
he came down slow, steady, no threat in his steps. just muscle and quiet.
you... call, he said, voice thick with an accent shaped by wind and canyon. he tilted his head, golden eyes sharp, but not unkind. i hear.
his head tipped toward the moor, then back to the man before him—thin, heavy-eyed, with soul dragging behind him like broken antler. coväh’s gaze flicked over him once more, slow.
you... not dead, he said finally. a small smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth, crooked. so maybe lucky.