Dawnlark Plains I can't hear it now

the wind is low between them, carrying the tang of blood and ice—elk on the breath of the land, the snowfields behind them, and that grin sharp as a blade. faust watches him with steady eyes, granite-hard and narrow, letting the silence between them stretch like taut hide.
warhall. jarl. names held weight, and the man bore his like armor. but faust is unshaken.
he speaks low and sure, the way mountain wolves do.
faust, he offers, with a flick of his tail. kaan of darukaal. we hold the glacier.
no boasts, no flowers in his voice. only stone. only truth.
he lifts his chin then, motioning northward toward the jagged crown rising like a god’s fang from the spine of the world.
you’ll find what you’re looking for, jarl. but blood will greet you first.
his gaze slides back, appraising. not hostile. calculating. he internally hoped that he could steal the women from nova peak. fuck them.
a wolf of war meets a wolf of war.