Duskfire Glacier lluvia

it's beautiful this time of year. faust said, voice quiet beneath the veil of morning.
he stood a pace behind her, not looming, but present—always present. the snow cracked faintly underfoot as he shifted to look where she looked, out across the jagged teeth of the glacier. pale light spilled through the clouds, painting frost and stone in shades of silver and steel.
cold don’t dull its beauty, he murmured.
a beat. breath rising in mist. his eyes slid to her, the curve of her posture wrapped in furs, her gaze far-off and contemplative. she looked nothing like the wolves of darukaal. and yet, she didn’t look out of place either.
not many come here just to look, he added, something half-curious in his tone. waiting for akavir?