Duskfire Glacier no one but me

the crunch of rock and frost underfoot announced his arrival before his voice did.
faust crested the rise in silence, shadow cut sharp against meltlight as his eyes swept the pair—iosef and satori. the soldier, stalwart and unmoving, basked in the sun like a stone warmed after winter. satori, curled like a fox beside her shrine’s bones, a picture of rest earned through pain. he could see the strain still in her limbs, the lingering tremble where a wound had not fully let go.
he came to a slow halt.
you’ve been building, he said simply, gaze passing to the shrine before settling on her leg.
his voice carried the weight of approval, but was spare. stripped down, like the man himself.
he did not yet speak to iosef, but the flick of an ear—acknowledging, familiar—was offered. the glacier did not breed softness, and there was no softness in the way faust appraised them now.
he moves to brush iosef's shoulder. a greeting, before he settles beside satori. an inward possession that is held above her before iosef, though he knows that he and the...russian girl, keshka, have been familiar.