Permafrost Hollows kementári

A name spoken as a breath in the dark barely stirred the air between them: Phantom. A fitting title indeed; he had been called many names before: ghost, wraith, exile, but never had a single word carried such quiet certainty. It slipped from her lips like a knowing thing, as though she had seen him in the weave of her fate long before their paths truly crossed. His presence here was no accident, nor was hers.
Astier stood still for a moment. The tunnels stretched around them, cold and quiet, the murmur between their breaths heavier than the stone and ice above. Moonlight, pale and distant, brushed along his fur, catching the sharp angles of his form as frost sculpted by an unseen hand.
„And you,” his was low, echoing against the cavern walls, „are still lingering where you do not belong.” There was no true reprimand in his words, no edge of warning like before. The wraith studied her now, the way the dim light played along the curves of her form, how earth and shadow clung to her as a second skin. A foreign beauty.
His head tilted slightly, the ghost of a smirk touched his lips, „You should have left with the sun.” She did not, of course, as she was here, before him. She had slipped into the underbelly of the land, wandering where few dared. Pale gaze lingered, cool and considering; perhaps there was more to her than just another trespasser lost in the dark.