Duskfire Glacier blood in the snow

her body trembled beneath him, too thin, too worn, but still hers. still alive.

her throat quaked with the effort of breath, and when his muzzle pressed into the hollow of her neck she gave a sound—half sob, half laugh—that cut sharp into the frozen air. she leaned into him, every ounce of her weight surrendered to his shoulder, his strength.

blackfell, she whispered again, this time less ghost, more woman. her lips brushed against the coarse fur of his ruff as if she might anchor herself there, as if only his solidity kept her from splintering into the snow.

tears burned her eyes, hot against the ice-wind, but she refused them. she had been taken, broken, starved, but not erased. not while he stood here.

i thought… her voice cracked, words breaking apart. i thought i’d never breathe free air again.

her legs buckled, but she clung to him still, her muzzle buried into the shadow of his chest, where his heartbeat was steady, certain, alive.

don’t— she rasped, as if he was the gods themselves. don’t let them take me back.