Duskfire Glacier i'm cauterizing the veins you lacerate

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—he is too lost within the turbulence of his mind to notice the presence of another.

and how odd that was, considering how desperate he had become to encounter another life. in loneliness, blackfell had once found supreme comfort. it was complacent, in the softest of ways. he desired, once, the breath of silence and the bliss in solitude. but now...

he despised it. how he had come to know the splendor of camaraderie, the warmth in brotherhood. the strength in numbers. and it had been ripped away from him, snuffed out by the tide of war. war had stolen everything from him. in the end,

none of it had been worth it.

a sudden shift in the silence of existence draws his attention. a presence stiffened behind him, and crimson eyes pull upwards above the peak he descends from. there is a woman, alone. but her scent smells vague of another, a hint of masculine.

blackfell, too, is still. and the two remain at an impasse, until he shifts upon large paws, crunching hardened snow beneath him. and his voice, full of grit, departs the quiet:

you're staring.