Duskfire Glacier handful

she had brought @Faust to a cold place.

here she thought fevers might be kept at bay and here she found caverns for him to lay in silence. it would be there that she let him rest finally. she knew his pain must be great and she doubted his first thought would be how wonderful of a place this was.

she stepped away from him and braced herself for any kind of voicing of his pain.

her mind already worked upon how she would find healing for him and where she might hunt, too.

faust shifted with a pained groan, the sharp movement pulling a hiss from between his teeth. fuck, he muttered under his breath, the word barely audible but laced with frustration and agony.

his green eyes flickered open, catching asha moving away, her focus clearly elsewhere. for a moment, he lay still, fighting against the searing pain that pulsed through him, before his voice broke the quiet.

asha, he rasped, his tone rough but deliberate. find moss. green furs under the lichen of stones. he paused, swallowing hard against the discomfort. it’ll help… stop infection.

he let his head fall back, his breath ragged, trusting her to know what he meant and do what needed to be done.

her name.

his rasping, clinging voice. it is good to know she had not somehow killed him on the way here. he gives her instruction and she thinks that together they will keep him alive.

she said nothing and only slid off to go find these things. it mattered not if the work was hard or if it took hours. she would collect all she could for him of what he instructed.

truthfully, she hoped to find him resting when she returned.

yet she wondered if the pain would keep him from it.

faust lay still, his breath shallow but steady, the cold pressing against him like an old companion. the sharp bite of it worked its way into his aching body, dulling the fire of his wounds, and for the first time since the chaos began, he found a sliver of peace.

his green eyes fluttered closed, the faint shimmer of frost gathering along his battered fur. the thickening temperatures, harsh to some, were a relief to him—a reminder of the north and the resilience etched into his bones.

he let the quiet envelop him, the faint rustle of asha’s departure fading into the distance. he did not fight the cold; instead, he leaned into it, allowing its numbing embrace to ease the edges of his pain, if only for a moment.

it took time.

she loathed the movement of sun and knowing she was absent from his wounded side. yet she trusted herself to have led him to safety, to have given him a private place while he laid in healing.

moss.

she flipped over stones, she dug through old places and tore at cold trees.

eventually something gave in her searches. it was not much but anything was better than nothing. so with what little she found, she returned to him. unexpectedly relieved to see him still there, untouched.

as if he might have had the chance to go anywhere —

she said nothing as she neared. trusting him to still have a nose that would scent her presence, how her perfume mixed with his iron-tinged cologne.

the little moss she had found settled near her paws, awaiting instruction.

his ears twitched first, the faint sound of her steps pulling him from uneasy dreams. a low groan rumbled in his throat as his eyes cracked open, the effort dragging him further into awareness. asha’s scent reached him, mingled with the damp musk of moss and the iron tang of his blood.

put it around the wounds, he muttered, his voice gravelly with sleep. he shifted, sitting upright with visible effort, his muscles protesting the movement. landing upon her, the faintest flicker of surprise in their depths as he saw what she’d brought. she really did it.

you did good, he added after a pause, leaning back slightly to give her room to work. a huff escaped him as he settled again, exhaustion evident but his trust in her clear.

wordlessly, she listened and tended his flesh.

she knew she had done good. even if for selfish reasons. she knew she was owed a life debt now and she knew that this was a debt she might wish to seize upon when the time came.

yet she knew, too, that he must be alone for none to have come to him first.

gods, she whispered in this dark place of healing. you pray?

the sharp sting of asha’s touch pulling him from the haze of pain. his body ached, but her careful tending softened the edges of his discomfort. his amber eyes flickered open, heavy with exhaustion but sharp enough to catch the whisper of her question.

pray? his voice was low, hoarse, and edged with the remnants of his battle. he let the word linger in the air for a moment, as though tasting it.

no gods’ve answered me yet, he muttered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips despite the weight of his injuries. maybe they don’t like the sound of my voice.

his gaze shifted to her, a spark of curiosity breaking through the fatigue. and you? you believe they’re listening?

her own lips curl softly, humored and warmed equally.

maybe. the simple word is accompanied by a shrug. you live. i'm not healer. did he see her line of thinking? perhaps it was by his instructions and the cooling environment, but she cannot help the wondering thought.

divine, somehow.

yet she does not say more than that.

instead she moves again and is searching around the cavern. anything that might show promise or use will be good enough.

anything to keep her from fretting over him endlessly.

where are we? faust’s voice was hoarse, a low rumble as he shifted slightly, testing the limits of his battered body. his green eyes followed asha’s movements, curiosity tempered by the lingering haze of pain.

he swallowed hard, forcing himself upright despite the ache, his gaze scanning the cavern. the walls seemed to loom, their jagged edges casting long shadows in the dim light. his tone softened, carrying a hint of wry amusement despite his state.

not that i complain—alive is better than dead.