The Wall Toome

the shift in her was subtle but telling; the tension in her frame had eased, her guard lowering just enough to betray her exhaustion. he could respect that, though it did little to soften the edge of his own expression.

your name? he said gruffly, the question a demand more than a request. his voice carried no malice, but the sharpness of it left no room for hesitation. he was not a man for pleasantries, yet something in him wanted to anchor this memory—this strange, icy woman against the backdrop of the wilderness.

she planned on going east. east. maybe the winds would carry them, or he'd track her down himself. an unlikely coincidence. but faust could play as a spearheaded, devoting man as long as he pleased. there was no telling what he could muster. rugged. underlying currents. he couldn't deny the ravensblood in his veins; cyclical nature of what a man would want. 

he was exhausted being a gentlemen. there was no promise of return, no lingering glance to suggest anything more. he stood then, approaching her against her shrouded position against the tree. a breath leaving him in the cold air, a cloud of heat. women follow strength.

When he rises again the huntress finds her head driving back against the tree, subduing a curl of lip with passes of tongue. Childhood hubris had faded with age, but still she defaults to hauteur when upset. She was very aware of their physical differences, and though Ayovi was well-bred she did not have strength to match the bite of her tongue– not in the presence of the mountain wolf. A stab of fear lends a clarity that cuts right through her pride. She could not know what lengths Faust would go to prove his authority here.
Nevertheless she licks her lips and presents defensive flashes of teeth from a side-swept muzzle. Her eyes avert, looking obediently away from his figure and off to a group of bare tree-trunks in the near distance.
“Ayovi,” she answers quietly, having no idea what notion she was supposed to take from his next words, preparing regardless if he meant to press his own upon her.

ice woman had a name.

a name that he could pronounce fluidly against his tongue. ayovi. it was not one that he had been familiar to, and he much rather preferred his own. iskava.

wherever she'd come from, she was raised well. batting her eyes away from him, but the fire inside of her raged with that flash of her teeth, stained with the blood of the doe. he flashed his own incisors, but didn't wish to demean her. silence her defiance instead.

i take you. he said through his clenched teeth. faust was never meant to stay on this summit, and was meant for the snow. forever-winter would entail that, would it not? he wasn't a man to seek being a savior, but it gave man a purpose. to provide. given that she could not hunt a meager doe, she'd surely starve in these conditions.

women don't go alone.

Ayovi, whose eyes have been wedded with the treeline, looks up at him suddenly. To her credit, she does not flinch though her mouth parts in sharp protest, “any pack that would have me will perceive a threat in you.”
She knew she had a better chance to grow back her strength with Faust than she did on her own. The luxury of thinking beyond the next day was not something she’d had in some time. But she also hadn’t escaped the clutches of Wide Fang to fall in with a lone man– particularly one she was wary of, who saw her as feeble. Whose motives were unclear.
“What demands will you make of me?” No man was truly so selfless. Not with women. Not in winter. She pins him with that skeptic’s glare, all pride rearing in spite of how tall and wide he looms.

his stoic face broke to a grin when she said they'd perceive him a threat. good. his towering stance was one to be revered, petrified of at first glance. but he swallowed his pride, the smirk. 

i leave once you find pack.

a simple transaction. it was, wasn't it? to his simple mind, there was nothing to argue about. her white furs against his own shadowed hue provided him a contrast to the snowy background— and against the tree, she sparkled. 

indeed. no man was selfless. especially not faust. if you're alone when your season falls upon you, he breathed, his nose reaching out to graze the underskin of her jaw. you have my cubs.

he thought he was rather generous. he provided a caveat, did he not? if she found someone. if. if, if. he pulled away with a snort of approval, giving her the space to accept his offer. 

i teach you to hunt. iskava need to learn. if you agree, but the sentiment was wordless.

The pressure of his tradeoff burns into flesh along the same route traced by his nose. There is no tenderness in the move, no affection– only dominance. Ayovi winces– painfully, fearfully certain that she will be alone, with no pack to share the hunts. No mother to guide her through her body’s changes. She had once dreamed of being held in such high esteem that an Asheēr man would choose her. Now she felt assailed by the idea, mocked with Faust’s gentleness as he criticizes her skill and calls her by another woman’s name.
The ivory face holds still only to turn away as soon as he withdraws, tail tucking tighter. He was no Asheēr man. He was not her pack. Her jaw sets firmly but anxiety claws at her belly.
“I’m not your wife,” the growl is strained as she looks back upon the snow marked by his shadowy steps.

faust’s eyes cut toward her, green as forest shadows and just as impenetrable. he had not flinched at her growl, nor did he lash back. instead, he let the silence settle around them like the snow underfoot, the kind of quiet that carried weight, pressing against the unspoken tension.

ayovi, he said finally, the name slipping from his mouth with an unfamiliar steadiness, as if testing its shape against his tongue. no bitterness laced his tone; it was simple acknowledgment. his teeth bared, it was not a question.

she did not have to be his wife to have his sons. 

finish eating, he stepped back from her, not hearing a 'no' leave her loose lips. we go now.

He plays his dominance like an element Ayovi will not look directly upon, but feels the impact nevertheless.  In the chain of wolven command, there is no sweeter pride than eclipsing one’s subordinates. She does not see the fierce green eyes, but imagines their flak, and it is a wonder that they do not crumble the ivory woman in this alone.
The soles of her feet throb horribly. She had endured cuts and abrasions from weeks of travel and now the pads blister. 
Ayovi decides to chance Faust’s displeasure and follows his command with protest, “I must rest.” The indigo eyes avert again.

faust’s patience had already worn thin, and her defiance stoked the embers of his simmering ire into open flames. his lips curled into a snarl as his green eyes narrowed, sharp and unrelenting as they bore into her retreating gaze.

without a word, he turned his head sharply, his jaws snapping shut against the bark of the nearest tree. the sound was harsh, violent, a loud crack as his teeth sank deep into the wood. with a forceful twist, he tore a splintering chunk free, letting it fall to the ground with a dull thud.

the display was meant to be understood. he would not tolerate insubordination, not even from the frail, battered woman who now stood before him.

faust huffed, the exhale short and forceful, his breath curling visibly in the cold air as he turned back to her. his expression remained cold, a mask of authority that allowed no argument.

come, he growled lowly, his voice clipped and edged with finality.

his gaze did not waver as he waited for her to comply. the command hung heavy in the silence between them, a challenge she would be unwise to meet with anything but obedience.

He was barbaric! The flesh under her moonspun face goes pale, lips cleaving for a gasp as wooden splinters pierce the powder by her feet. Behind the fear rises anger, fierce and scorching and yet her body is stilled to a type of quiet she would not believe possible, suspending all but pulse and breath– like a doe listening for the draw of a hunter’s arrowhead.
She does look up then, staring daggers into the back of his head, a pant like a sneer raking the hollowed throat. An asheēr man might have chastised her, but this one had no right!
Under the roar of pain she does as told, finds her feet and drives her body into a trot, passing Faust with a warbling growl and eyes that refuse to acknowledge.
Ayovi wanted him to feel ugly for his violence.