Duskfire Glacier maeth

Astier does not resist the final blow. The bite lands firm against the side of his neck, not cruel, but decisive. A final, wordless decree. He stands through it, snow shifting beneath steady paws, and when Faust draws back, the Wraith does not stagger. Blood wells faint where fangs had pressed, but his head remains lifted, breath misting quietly between them.
A flick of his ear. A pulse of breath through flared nostrils. He meets the Kaan’s gaze, unshaken and unreadable, then he nods once. Not in defeat, but in understanding, acceptance. There’s no sharp retort, no sulking silence; only the gleam of something that lingers behind the frost of his eyes. A promise. He would return. And next time, it would not end the same.
Without a word, Astier steps back into the cold, already half-lost in the mist that clings to the glacier’s edge, shoulders stiff but unbowed. The snow drinks his blood, but his spirit remains untouched.