Permafrost Hollows kementári

The tunnels breathed around them, a slow, steady pulse of the earth’s quiet, and within it, she stood defiant, poised, a dark flame refusing to flicker beneath his gaze. He had expected fear, resistance, perhaps even pleading, but not this. Not the way her voice curled through the cold air, measured and unyielding, not the way she held herself, as if she, too, was carved from something unbreakable.
Pale gaze lingered upon the woman, taking in the fine details; the way the dim glow of the corridors caught in the strands of her fur, the quiet confidence that did not quite mask the careful calculation beneath. A lesser creature might have faltered beneath his scrutiny, but she did not. His interest sharpened;
When the wraith finally spoke, his voice was low, edged with something that was not quite amusement, nor quite warning: „And yet,” he mused, taking an imperceptible step closer, „here you are, still standing before me, unmoved.” His head tilted, slow and deliberate, as though weighing something unseen. Her words carried a challenge beneath their surface, but not one that beckoned violence. No, she was testing something else; perhaps him, perhaps the limits of his patience.
„I wonder, watharil, if you are so eager to leave… why linger at all?” Astier did not give her the answer she sought, nor the threat she might have expected. Instead, he held her olive gaze in the quiet tension of the moment, waiting; wondering if she would offer him more than just the promise of absence.