Duskfire Glacier снова увидеть красный цвет

the ice-crowned ridges answered first. then came keshka.
she slipped through the haze like a shadow cast in mercury—sleek, silent, and laced in something venomous. no fanfare. no bravado. only the cool click of her claws against stone as she stepped into his warpath with the same grace one might bring to a ballroom.
did you miss me? the question was dry, edged with irony. her gaze flicked once across his pacing figure—sharp, amused, unafraid.
or was it the sound of your own name bouncing off the cliffs that finally made you dizzy?
keshka circled him like a wolf scenting a blood trail—close, measured, testing. she did not bow, did not bare her teeth. no theatrics. only a smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, dangerous in its quietness.