Dawnlark Plains ☾ déix̲

what was their story?

as he looks between the two, blackfell finds it hard to even care. how many romances had he seen faust endure, yet? too many to count. if he were to take a bet, he would be surprised if this woman was around through the end of the winter season.

a grim thought. one stolen away when faust introduces himself as... uktark. tartok. it seemed the last woman had had more of a lasting affect on him than the raven might've thought. so to that blackfell produces a noise; one of amusement, a grunting snort that leaves him taking a lumbering step back to drop his gaze over the man. uktark... the name is slow to leave his mouth.

then the crownore man laughs, not at the name, but at the hilarious thought that piques his mind; chuffing cold breath from his nostrils and his agape jaw. aye, it's a better name than the one your father gave you. certainly.

though his hilarity fades away into the set of his hardening brow and the firm line of his mouth whenever uktark offers to help him find her. out, he looks over the stretch of the snowy plains and feels an uneasy bristle come to his hackles. they lift, lift, lift. the girl could be anywhere. blackfell huffs.

she could be dead. i will not ask this of you. beneath his breath, a husky uttering: taktu konuna þína. skildu mig eftir með þessa skyldu.