Duskfire Glacier снова увидеть красный цвет

aw, but attention to @Keshka < 3

The war is close. Close enough for the soldier to feel metaphorical blood spill between his teeth and flood his throat, close enough for him to feel the bloodlust. The satisfaction that comes with a gruesome kill. And yet, it has not happened. The march hasn't been set, and he hadn't been called upon. 

It upsets the soldier, as it is what he was bred for. Crafted for. A creature meant for the call of the kill, the beckon of war drums. A man meant to soil the earth with the blood of his enemies. And so he is restless. Pacing, neglecting sleep—he would not rest. Not until all of Saatsine lay at his feet, their bodies left to in the hot sun as their heads places upon pikes.

His mind shifts to @Keshka. A fierce woman, one not soft and pliable, but strong and flexible. The only woman who'd snaked around his mind and lured him with strength unseen but felt. Their last spar still hummed beneath his skin—she hadn't drawn blood. She hadn't made a mark upon his flesh, even though he wished she had. 

A fight left unfinished. It was something the soldier could not tolerate. His grim, gruesome song rings throughout the glacier. Beckoning, challenging someone to try and fell the winter soldier.

the ice-crowned ridges answered first. then came keshka.
she slipped through the haze like a shadow cast in mercury—sleek, silent, and laced in something venomous. no fanfare. no bravado. only the cool click of her claws against stone as she stepped into his warpath with the same grace one might bring to a ballroom.
did you miss me? the question was dry, edged with irony. her gaze flicked once across his pacing figure—sharp, amused, unafraid.
or was it the sound of your own name bouncing off the cliffs that finally made you dizzy?
keshka circled him like a wolf scenting a blood trail—close, measured, testing. she did not bow, did not bare her teeth. no theatrics. only a smirk that tugged at the corner of her mouth, dangerous in its quietness.

There she was—a vision that could soothe the beast he is, if only for a moment or two. With the same fire and bite that had drawn him close and kept him there. Not quite seduced but enthralled. She is the only woman on this glacier that meets him with grit, with venom. The only one worth pursuing. 

He meets her with a smirk of his own. Eyes shaded as they track her every movement—graceful, but he knows she's lethal. That the ballet she dances could turn deadly within the blink of an eye. And so he joins the dance; circling her, eyes roaming with possessive admiration. 

"You drew no blood, the last time we fought." Voice deep and graveled, laced with intention. His steps are heavy but sure, hands now clean of blood that typically stain them. Only the finest for her—and he hoped her blood may dress him tonight. 

With a chuff, he stands resolute. Thick cords of muscle drawing tight beneath skin, head raised, eyes gleaming with challenge he knew she would meet. Because she always did. "Let's fix that, yes? War comes soon. I need to know you're ready."

késhka turned to face him, slow and deliberate, like a cat catching the scent of something it meant to toy with. the grin that split her muzzle was sharp and wide, all teeth and thrill, carved deep into her cheeks like it belonged there.
want to be put on your ass, again? she drawled, voice low and thick with amusement, the kind that knew exactly how much power it held and never needed to shout.
her eyes tracked him as he circled, green like a glacial thaw—pretty, but dangerous underneath. and gods, he was predictable. always posturing, always circling like he might catch her if she wasn’t careful. like she hadn’t let him the last time.
she stepped into his space without hesitation, shoulders loose, hips cocked just enough to tease, just enough to say try it.
you want blood? she purred, flicking her tail against his flank in passing, you’ll have to earn a taste.
and then, closer, her breath warm against his jaw, eyes glinting like broken glass in winter light.