Duskfire Glacier burn

he met her with a snarl, low and guttural—more breath than sound, all rage and memory.
her shove rocked through his chest, but he welcomed it. fed on it. claws split the earth beneath him as he drove forward again, teeth baring, muscles taut as cables. she came for his scruff, and he twisted with it—let her find purchase—only to slam his shoulder into her ribs with bone-jarring force, aiming to knock the wind clean from her lungs.
there you are, she said.
i never left.
no grin. no taunt. just a growl scraped from his throat, old and war-worn.
he wasn’t the boy. he was the reckoning.
his jaws snapped for her flank, not to maim—but to bruise, to remind her. she wanted fire? he was the forge.
and svalla, wild and unbreaking—she would either survive it…
or be tempered by him.