Duskfire Glacier When gods forgive

his shadow broke across the snow, great and quiet as he listened. the sorceress's tongue lashed like flame, demanding reverence, demanding kneeling. he had not bowed to gods. not ever. not once.
but there was a memory—blood upon bark, blackfell’s voice like smoke, the bone-deep chant that rose between them.
he had knelt.
not to the gods. not then.
but to his kin.
faust drew in a long breath, eyes narrowing slightly as the she-witch retrieved her bundle. he did not bristle. did not bark. instead, he moved closer.
i will worship none other than my wife.
his voice was low, calm, unwavering. a vow made of stone and marrow. a truth.
if she worships gods, then so will i.
his green eyes fell to the bundle. the gifts. and he did not turn away from them. instead, a paw moved and he accepted them with a quiet nod.
respect, he said, lifting his gaze again, voice edged with something close to tired, but not quite soft. i can do.
the gods would not have his devotion. not yet. not unless his wife willed it. but respect, as earned by blood and kin, he would offer.
show me what to do.