Duskfire Glacier Sun is shining, it's over

faust gave a low grunt that might've been a laugh. might've just been agreement.
ain’t that the truth, he muttered, settling beside the food with that easy weight of his. a mountain when still, an avalanche when not. his eyes flicked between the two southerners—one silent and poised, the other frayed at the edges. worn, but standing. still standing.
that counted for something.
we could use some friends in the south, he said after a moment, voice lower, but not without warmth. darukaal’s strength holds here. but strength don’t mean much if it’s alone.
his gaze lingered on akavir, then to silvertongue, the faintest tilt of his head betraying interest. caution, too, but the kind born of wariness—not mistrust. his tail swept once along the snow.
could send you back with ox hides, he went on. even a bear hide. clean kill, kept it whole. you take it to the valley, they’ll know we keep our word.
a pause. he glanced toward the horizon—where the snow line began to melt into promise.
and how about we have a summer feast? the idea came slow, like stone rolling over ice. swiftcurrent. darukaal. those willing to stand and speak and trade. you said haven, he added, eyes back to akavir. maybe it starts with fire and meat.
and perhaps peace. but that part, faust didn’t say aloud. not yet.