Duskfire Glacier [m] Village song

the hunt was swift. coordinated. faust had known she would find the weakling—he had only to flank, drive, hold. the moment her ear flicked he was moving, a shadow crashing through snow and brush. his weight bore down like the glacier itself, and the beast staggered beneath it, caught in a dance it had no steps for.
he did not kill. not yet. he only held.
his strength pinned the caribou, muscles flexed in stillness, a silent offering to his counterpart. she came like fire in the cold, her fangs swift and final. flesh split beneath her jaws, and faust felt the animal sag beneath them both—first in resistance, then in release.
his eyes met hers across the bloodied hide. steady. unwavering.
the snow muffled all but the sound of breath and blood. and still, he did not speak. there was no need. they had done it together—without error. without waste.
he stepped back only once her kill was done, dragging a forelimb across his muzzle. then he grunted softly, approving.
we eat, he said at last, voice like distant thunder.
his gaze lingered. sharp. thoughtful.
you’re quick. precise.
a pause, almost wry.
i’ll take that over words any day.