Duskfire Glacier Come a little bit closer

the wind was thinner up here.
high along the ridgelines, where the sun rarely touched and the ice never quite melted. it whispered through the stones like an old tongue, guttural and half-forgotten. faust walked with it, heavy paws cutting narrow tracks through snow-flecked gravel, the weight of a musk ox hide draped over his back.
it stank of blood and winter—fresh enough to steam at the seams where it had been torn free. a gift. or a burden. maybe both.
his breath curled from his jaws in thick spirals, green eyes sharp beneath the jut of his brow. they scanned the broken earth ahead—slopes and shadows, dark gullies where a clever woman might nest.
he hadn’t seen @Tikigak since dawn. he wondered if she’d found a place. a hollow, dry and tucked away from the wind’s bite. something safe. something still.
his pace slowed as the ridge opened into a ledge. paw pads splayed for purchase on the slick stone. he paused there, hide shifting on his spine, and lifted his nose to the air.
scouting for her scent.
for warmth.