Duskfire Glacier blood in the snow

— it is unmistakable.

the scent that wires through him stalls him mid-step, the brute's breath catching within in his chest. a snarl half-forms and then dies before it exists within his throat. and blackfell turns, slowly, and for a heartbeat—

his heart stops.

his name upon her tongue is haunting, a chilling refrain that brings his onyx fur to a bristle. suddenly, she is no ghost. she is real. real, terrible, raw; and blackfell moves. thick laws churning through the fresh snow fall upon the glacier.

great haunches driving through the powder, steam flaring from his nostrils, all caution shredded in the space between heartbeats. when blackfell reaches her, he does not hesitate in coming to her side, nose finding its place within the fur of her throat. head sliding beneath her neck to lift her.

morwenna, his voice is of grit and ice, but melting with a serenity for her. for his queen. i have you.