Duskfire Glacier we're timeless

the cold air still carried the weight of his decree, the echoes of war settling into the bones of darukaal like frost seeping into stone. the pack had heard him, answered him, and soon they would march. but first, he needed her.
faust moved through the glacier with purpose, his breath curling in the frigid night, his muscles taut from the strain of what was to come. his mind turned over every detail, every step that needed to be taken—there was no room for uncertainty, no time for hesitation.
@Satori.
he sought her now, tracking the familiar scent through the ice-laden paths, past the silent sentinels of jagged stone. she had stood beside him, voiced her resolve, but he needed more. he needed her mind, her strategy.
he exhaled sharply as he neared, eyes scanning the frost-covered terrain. satori, he called lowly, his voice rough with exhaustion but steady with intent. they had much to discuss.

He would find her at the fringes of Bosk Iana, where the pines gave way to rolling meadows and the warriors trained with tooth and claw. The noise of their spars ricocheted throughout the glacier like clashing swords, and it seemed no matter how deep into the woods she scurried, their echoes still would reach her.

And so Satori had resigned to watch. 

This was not her war and yet it was. Her concern extended to that of Blackfell's wife - Gjalla, was that her name? But in her fear and trepidation for conflict, she saw only the follies of foolish, battle-hungry men and women, and thought it her own fault she'd been swept up in such things. Again.

Satori sighed and turned finally to where the Baskaan stood. "What do you want, Faust?"

faust moves without hesitation, closing the space between them with the quiet confidence of a man who knows his place at her side, even when she does not want him there.
he does not answer her immediately. instead, he lowers his head, pressing his nose into the thick ruff of her neck, his warmth bleeding into her tense frame. it is a silent gesture, an offering, an apology without words.
when he speaks, it is low, rough, edged with something softer only she is allowed to see.
you are angry with me.
it is not a question. he can see it in the way she holds herself, the way she watches from a distance, her mind wrapped in thoughts he cannot yet unravel. but he does not pull away, does not let her slip too far from his grasp.
tell me.

Satori was not one for teeth, not one to deny Faust and so she allowed him closer, albeit stiffly and with a scalding side-eye. She wished he'd speak, tell her why he came to her now when there were clearly preparations to be made. And yet she found the words caught in her throat.

It was not entirely accurate to call whatever thrummed within her anger. Disappointment maybe, fear - the inevitable told you so that her mother would surely have uttered if she were still alive.

"You declared war, Faust," and though the druid wished to pull away, she found her paws rooted steadfast to the frost. "Do you know what that means?" Her head ducks to her chest in an effort to hide the shake of her lip.

faust exhales, slow and steady, feeling the tension in her frame, the stiffness in her stance. she does not pull away, but he feels it—the weight of her disappointment, the shadow of her fear. it is not anger, not truly, but it cuts just the same.
yes. the word is quiet, rough, but certain.
his breath ghosts against the cold as he watches her, the flicker of movement in her jaw, the way her lip trembles though she tries to hide it.
i have seen war before.
his voice does not rise. it does not waver. it is a fact, nothing more. something carved into his bones, as unshakable as the glacier beneath them.
it is not what i want. his head tilts slightly, green eyes steady on her own, reading her as he always has. but they are my family.
his muscles are taut, braced for whatever she may say, whatever she may do. she has always been the soft one, the thoughtful one, and he—he is what he was made to be.
he waits.

She knew it.

She'd known it before her concerns had even been voiced, that Faust was experienced in war. Like all mountain men, he was no different - Satori cursed herself for not seeing it sooner.

And yet he was remorseful; it tugged on a familiar heartstring. "I understand," she whispered into the space between them, unmoving still. "Family is worth fighting for." Was it? Her own had cast her out, banished her to the winds for a falsehood she had no part in.

"I wanted to leave, you know. After your call - I wanted no part in this war, no part in this pack if violence is your answer to everything. " Instead, Satori felt as though she was stuck in a time loop, the faces of old dead morphing into those of the glacier. "But- I am torn." 

faust exhales, the weight of her words settling deep into his chest. he watches her, expression unreadable but for the way his eyes soften, something tender buried beneath the storm of his thoughts.
satori, he murmurs, stepping closer, the distance between them too much to bear. he does not touch her, though he wants to.
i do not want this, he admits, voice rough, raw. violence is not my answer. it is my reality. his gaze drops for a moment, as if ashamed of the truth in his words. but if i can stop it before it begins, i will. you know this.
he lifts his head again, meeting her gaze fully now, searching. you will be safe. a promise, a plea.
but then—quieter, almost hesitant—will you stay?

I do not want this. 

Satori didn't believe him. Faust spoke of reality and the druid saw it only as an excuse. "There is always a choice," she tore her gaze from the clashing warriors to rest upon his form, seeing for the first time the pain and the truth in his expression. And she melted.

Pale muzzle came to nose the furs of his chin, willing his head to rest upon her spine in a gesture of comfort. Of gratitude at his promise that she knew he would try his best to keep. "But Faust, I- I'm not sure you can stop what's already in motion." Her voice hitches then at his loaded question.

She could follow the signs and the spirits that evaded her, back to the wilds in hopes of encountering someone or something new. But with her leg still a hindrance, she'd be an easy target. For the caribou hunters, for Winsook, though their peace was still tentative. Would she even make it out the taiga alive? And so she came to nod with a quiet sigh: "I have nowhere else to go."

faust exhales, sinking deeper into the warmth of her furs, letting the weight of his head settle against her spine. it is a moment stolen from the chaos, a breath of stillness before the storm.
his voice is low, a quiet confession only for her. if it had been you, he murmurs, they would already be dead. there is no hesitation in the words, no doubt. he would have torn them apart, scattered their bones to the winds.
there is nothing i won’t do to keep the glacier safe, he continues, voice rough with something unspoken, something deeper. and when gjalla came wounded... he draws in a slow breath, jaw tightening. it was threatened.
he feels her nod, the shift of her breath, the resignation in her words.
his grip tightens just slightly, a silent plea, a vow wrapped in touch. then stay, he says, barely above a whisper. please.

The weight of his words hung over her head, a reminder of things left unspoken for far too long. "I have no doubts, dark knight," she jested. "Gjalla is lucky to have you as family." And it was the truth. She had no qualms with the injured woman who sought her kin in time of need, only a bitter wish that Gjalla had gone elsewhere, as selfish as it sounded.

"I will offer my skills as healer to her, and to your warriors should they need it." Satori hated what that meant, hated that she may have to tend more wounds inflicted by those of their own kind. "You have my word. I'll stay." Yellow eyes close in mirrored promise, unwilling to pull from his embrace just yet.

faust huffs a quiet chuckle at her jest, the sound low and warm against the cold. i hope we will have none, he murmurs, meaning it. no wounded, no bodies torn apart in the snow. war was inevitable now, but still, he hoped.
he holds her there, finding a strange comfort in her presence, a balm against the weight of everything pressing down upon him. when she promises to stay, to lend her hands to the wounded, he exhales, a slow and steady release of tension.
then darukaal is stronger for it, he murmurs, letting the moment settle between them. his grip does not loosen, and when he rests against her, it is not the weight of war or duty, but something quieter. something that feels like peace.