Duskfire Glacier [m] Village song

faust grunted low, a sound of agreement and satisfaction. her voice did not grate him the way others did—he welcomed the gravel in it, the wild simplicity, the way her meaning never needed dressing. she spoke truths as they were, clean and cold as the bones they would soon pick bare.
no, he echoed, head dipping to carve meat from tendon. not wasted.
her nip stirred a flicker in him—his own sharp gaze flicked sideways, steady on her, then returned to the carcass. it was not tenderness, not entirely. but it was his version of it. he leaned closer, brushing shoulder against hers as he tore a haunch free and set it before her.
they would feed. they would strengthen.
we’ll need more kills, he said, finally. you and i. spring comes. mouths grow. another pause. a glance. you hunt well.
that was praise, from a man who rarely gave it. then, quieter, more to the blood-warmed earth than to her: you stay strong, tikigâk. don’t soften.