Dawnlark Plains First dance

a huff of amusement left him, low in his chest, as he watched her recline against the torn flesh. faust did not smile often, but there was the faintest edge of one now, carved at the corner of his mouth like snow softened by sun.
just might have to, he murmured, voice a quiet rasp, eyes never leaving hers.
he was not a man who needed to boast. the world had made him hard and steady, and the glacier had carved its truths into him long before he earned his title. he knew what he was. more than enough. he didn't need to say it.
but when she spoke of his glacier, his eyes sharpened—just slightly.
it's cold, he warned, though there was something teasing beneath it. not made for soft hearts.
he leaned forward then, as if to test the truth of her curiosity.
but you could keep up.