Duskfire Glacier Celebration dance

he listened, quiet at first, ears flicking with interest. talk of the plains brought a flicker of memory—long ago, when he too had followed hoofbeats across frozen flatlands, before the glacier, before darukaal. he could picture it easily: a younger dione, leaner, carved by wind and purpose, chasing giants beneath a low-hanging sky. her words painted it well.
you would have done well here, he murmured, low and warm. not flattery. truth.
her paw came up, firm against his cheek, and he let her push him, the weight of his head heavy beneath her touch. a snort rose from him—more breath than voice—and he eased back, but only slightly. there was a glint in his eye now. playful, maybe, though dulled by the usual solemn mask he wore.
if you push again, you better be ready to wrestle, he warned, voice full of something fond. something wry. he moved to pin her, a gentle action despite the giant, if she allowed him such.