Duskfire Glacier Celebration dance

faust’s ear flicked at her words.
a litter last spring.
his gaze slid to her with the faintest raise of a brow, though there was no judgment in the cool glint of his glacier eyes—only surprise. he regarded her for a moment longer, then gave a slight nod. you’re a mother.
a statement. not a question.
it shifted something, not in his posture, but somewhere beneath the surface. perhaps not tenderness, but an understanding—rooted, perhaps, in what he’d lost.
without another word, he turned, leading her deeper into the stonefold. through the jagged outcroppings and over the frost-kissed ledge, where a larger formation of rock loomed. beneath it, nestled in a shadowed hollow, was his den.
quiet. deep. protected from the wind and the eyes of others.
he cast her a sidelong glance, watching how she took it in.
here, he said simply. it was more than just his sleeping place. it was his refuge. and now, she stood before it.
his tail gave a slow flick. wake me, if you must.
a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.