Duskfire Glacier home

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the wind is screaming again. he can hear it clawing its way across the glacier’s back, dragging the cold through every crack in the stone, howling down the ridgelines.

autumn has come, and soon, winter.

but blackfell has never feared her bitter cold. only ever embraced it, like a sister returned home.

here, he stands unmoving at the glacier’s throat, a jag of shadow against the ice, his breath a steady churn of steam through flared nostrils. and somewhere hidden within the heart of the glacier, his women are hidden. tucked away. one guarding, the other healing.

so he does not sleep. not tonight. maybe not ever again.

and gods help the first thing that comes over that ridge bearing ill intent in its heart; with axes for teeth.

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