Duskfire Glacier [m] Village song

he tore into the kill with single-minded focus, jaw working methodically through sinew and meat, the heat of the fresh kill warming the cold that never quite left his bones. blood streaked his chin, dark against his fur, and his eyes flicked to her only when she pressed close—proud, powerful, and flush with purpose.
faust made no speech of thanks, but he offered what words he had:
you hunt like a creature born from war.
a grunt. approval. respect.
he pulled a strip of meat from the belly, rich and thick, and laid it near her paw. a gesture, not of softness, but of recognition. she was his equal. mate in the hunt. mate in war. mate in the season’s fire.
his breath was steady now, hunger waning only as her nearness stoked another kind. the command in her voice—feast, she’d said—earned a glance from beneath his brow. slow. burning.
he finished what remained of the flank with efficient ease, bone cracking between his teeth.
her next words brought a slow nod.
tartok breeds warriors. darukaal does not change that, his gaze pinned her, hard and unflinching. we are the same. we carve our place from the bone of what came before.
his shoulder brushed hers as he stood, licking the last of the blood from his teeth. the scent of her burned in the air, as much as the kill did.
i take hide, he said lowly, voice husky with what stirred in him. mate gets first hides— for den.
once she would be done, he'd cut the hairs of the caribou and let it soak in the melting snow, blood washing away in slow trickles. he stepped upon it, lifting his leg to urinate upon the furs, before goading her forward with a raise of his tail. for as all that he hungered, nothing compared to the sensation of her scent.