Duskfire Glacier free folk

he doesn’t answer at first.
just sits with her shoulder pressed against his, listening to the churn of water and the low crackle of ice shifting in the distance. steam curls from their backs like ghosts shaken loose from war-worn skin, rising up into stars neither of them dare wish on anymore.
her hand had touched him. smoothed the mess of blood-matted fur without thinking. and that—more than her teasing, more than her fight—makes something stir in him. quiet. deep.
her question lingers.
his gaze lifts toward the horizon, breath drawn deep. long enough that one might think he wouldn’t respond at all. but then:
i’ll take a mate.
the words come low, gravel caught on tongue, shaped by certainty and weariness both. not for softness. not for peace. but for blood. legacy. his eyes narrow faintly, still trained on the dark edge of the glacier. darukaal needs cubs that can outlast the next war. sons and daughters of wolves who don’t break easy.
a pause.
i won’t choose until this is over. don’t have the luxury.
he glances at her then, only briefly. there’s no warmth in it. no cruelty, either. just fact. he sees her strength, her ease here in the steam beside him. but Faust is not a man who chases maybes. not when the world can change with a single blade.
until then—this is enough.
a beat passes, then his shoulder leans a little heavier against hers. not an embrace. not quite. just the weight of a man too tired to speak in riddles.