Northstar Vale a grin as sharp as a knife (mtr.)

winters— melkor lets out a laugh; unexpected and sudden and robbed of the boom it might've once held in the wake of the marring flesh of his scarred throat and neck. instead, it rumbles like first thunderfall in the great distance. no, he murmurs in amused agreement. that doesn't sound insulting at all.

glacial gaze watches her rise and hover, uncertainly over the waters as if she is warring with herself — and perhaps, he suspects, she is. eventually, he notes, she submerges herself after what he considers teasing her for seems like a lot more contemplation than is required. i don't bite, kuuhaltija. melkor purls teasingly to her. well...not usually. a chuckle rumbles in his chest, glimpsing at her over a broad shoulder.