Duskfire Glacier main title

faust watched him go, the coiled storm of his cousin unraveling into purposeful motion. they did not need words. not between them.
his own muscles tensed beneath his pelt, fur bristling slightly as if to catch the wind of what was to come. war. it was no longer an idea. no longer a promise. it was flesh and bone now—gathering at the gate.
he turned, sharp-eyed, toward the glacier’s expanse, where their kin would rise at blackfell’s summons, where darukaal would answer its call with bloodied teeth and frozen banners.
to war, then, faust muttered, voice low and edged like a blade kissed with frost.
and he went to stand at the front, where he always had.