Duskfire Glacier Ω Holding onto you while you drag me through stormy weather,

— he returns with blood still warm on his breath and snow caked into the fur between his toes, the scent of his kill clinging, choking, cloying.

the moment he crosses the mouth of the den, his ears catch her breath, shallow and thin, and it nearly drives him to his knees.

how had his queen been reduced to this?

his body blocks the wind as he enters, massive shape curling low. and before her, he discards the carcass of the snow hare. it is young, but plump and fresh. and he speaks with a quiet, hushed breath.

eat. he encourages. you need to. his eyes lay upon her scars, her wounds. some old, some new. each one filling him with the same anger. the same sorrow.