Duskfire Glacier Come a little bit closer

faust met her gaze without pause, a flicker of something sharper, deeper, passing between them. he did not speak at first—only motioned with his muzzle and turned, broad shoulders shifting as he began to walk. there was no need for explanation. she asked, and he would show her.
his pace was measured but firm, and he did not look back to check if she followed—he knew she would. they wound through narrow ledges and snow-thick trees, the kind of trail that bent just enough to be forgotten if not walked often. frost bit the air. silence reigned, save for the crunch of their steps and the distant moan of wind across the glacier.
then the path opened.
a hollow carved by stone and time, rimmed with shale and shadow, where the wind passed quiet and the world felt still. bones of past kills lay scattered beneath the ridge—old, cleaned, undisturbed. tucked away, unseen from above. a den if needed. a burial site, if not.
he halted.
here. his voice was low, solid. he didn’t elaborate. didn’t need to. this was his place—earned, remembered, kept. and now, hers too, if she chose it.