Duskfire Glacier I am the cut that ends foes—

She is spent, and well satisfied—Tikigâk settles with him, rumbling in content. His question was answered as she leaned into his touch, affirming. Yes. She heeds his nips, lowering her head to rest against his scarred forelegs.

His touch was soothing, she found. Tikigâk still felt herself in some sort of gauzy, amber haze—it made her much more amenable, and far less ornery than she could typically be. And so she lifted her head to return the gesture, and to press her nose slowly, though solidly should he not withdraw, against his own. 

Her gaze was not so stern as she looked within his eyes. Tikigâk was still entirely herself—ever the harsh and savage beast—only, Faust had begun to bring out something within her no other had access to, through believing him an equal and their tie together. Undiscovered, even by Tikigâk—a thorny garden only Faust could manage. Not a pretty thing, no—nor even a soft one. 

Make me bleed, he had asked of her—and as he drove his arm against rough stone and through those thorns to begin this labor, they both did. This cultivation would make neither of them softer, for the shade of her gaze did not mean she had become such a thing. 

It made her fiercer. This was something to protect. 

Something worth bleeding for. 

She lowered her head again to rest upon his forelegs once more, allowing him room to lean upon her so they two could rest.