Dawnlark Plains I can't hear it now

faust did not move, nor blink in haste. he stood as one forged by the glacier itself—silent, frigid, ancient beneath the skin. the man before him was of the same ilk; northern-born, battle-tempered. not a southerner’s softness, no—this one had known frostbite and iron.
his ear flicked at the old tongue, the weight of it not lost on him.
he raised a single brow, gaze sharpening just a fraction.
woman?
a grunt followed, low in the chest. his head turned, slow, as if scenting her in memory alone. none came.
there are scarce women upon the glacier.
jora. svalla. neither fit the scent upon him. neither fit the need in his voice.
he had not lied. but he would help the man hunt.