Phoenix Maplewood I tripped off long ago

The world they hailed from was one of isolation, hard work, and mindfulness. A place where the mountain was unforgiving—but the bounty great, if one knew how to work the land. To have found her so far from such a place, and without any sign of a herd to tend or a man to mind, flew in the face of Yataghan's traditional values. To find her at all was a blessing of course! To be near his blood, a boon. Yet he looked now upon his sister, incredulous, and suddenly full of rage—as much for her state of body as for her solitude, and for himself, as he had not been there to protect her.

What—how? Your face! He rounded her again, staring at her. The juxtaposition of her fine, familiar features and the bald scar across the opposite side was jarring, and infuriating; he looked around as if the culprit would be there with them. Who did this? I will hunt them down, skin them! He imagined it would be like tracking down an elderly goat upon the range. It would be as satisfying to take that hide, similarly to how a man retrieves their first ram horns.

I cannot believe it is you. He does not crumble before her, but Yataghan looks as close to emotive as he's ever been.