Duskfire Glacier Trouble in the Stepstones

anoré stood as she always had—with chin level and broad shoulders rolled back. 
and she knew what he saw, what name he wore. the stench of smoke, pine pitch, and smoldering embers heavy on his throat. 
he was all cold and dark and brooding as his father was, with flecks of sun-spark on his back. an ever-perfect conglomeration of infidelity. but she bore him no grievance. how could she?
she merely offered him an acknowledging glance.
"not any man's." she answered for herself, though more biting than she'd intended. not draugr's, not adonis'. 
"he gave an offer," a flick of an ear toward her traveling companion, "i come to watch. to listen." to decide.
there were no oaths nor promises. only her words—sharp, standing.