Duskfire Glacier i'm cauterizing the veins you lacerate

---

—she steps closer. blackfell takes a step away. those cold, unfeeling eyes of crimson settling upon her face. a silent acknowledgement of her bravery, and yet, he is stoic against it.

and then, there, her man. pale, blond fur appearing to press against her fragmented scent. the norseman's rounded, small ears twitch with collection, taut upon his scarred, blocky head. something about this boy is... familiar. a distant smell upon his fur, interwoven, plains and icemelt, and a spitfire woman with sapphire eyes.

blackfell is a stain upon the pure backdrop of the glacier. inky, dark incarnate. built of mountains, a piece of the crags dismantled. the man rumbles, a throaty noise that vibrates behind the caged yellow of his teeth.

where do you hail from?

a question that isn't directed at either in specific, but for both of them as a whole. his stare encompassing upon the woman, then upon the man who so nobly postures himself at her side.

and looking at this, he has seen it before. there comes the pained thud of his heart.