Dawnlark Plains First dance

he did not press her for more—no promises, she’d said. that was enough. she came to him on her own, a ghost-hued thing brushing her muzzle to his cheek, and faust—stoic, distant faust—tilted ever so slightly into the touch.
then he turned.
the glacier rose like a god in the distance, its breath woven into the wind. without a word, he began the climb, casting a glance back only once to ensure she followed. the path was not easy, but she had the legs for it. the will.
they moved through snow-laced pines and ice-scored ridges, where the light fractured in glacial blue. this place did not welcome all—its heart beat slow and cold—but as they passed the cairns and crests of stone, faust let her walk beside him.
not behind.