Duskfire Glacier [m] born with other names

aw

morning drips cold down his spine. the glacier is quiet beneath a muted sky, slate and soft, still shaking free the last grip of night. faust moves through the snow with the steady rhythm of one who has known this path a thousand times over.
his breath steams. frost crusts thick along his beard and brows. he lifts a leg, marks the stone edge of the border with intense care. the wind drags his scent far into the valley below, and he watches it go—imagines it threading over the ice fields, slipping beneath the claws of any who might think to test blood talon lands.
not today.
behind him, blackfell sleeps somewhere in the crook of the territory, tucked away where faust told sulukinak to see him settled. safe. fed. the man had earned at least that. and still, the story from the night before hums like a second heartbeat beneath faust’s ribs. sun eater. lanzadoii. saatsine. trouble that doesn’t know how to stay dead.
he drags his claws through the snow beside a boulder, leaving long scars behind. ears flick. the herd stirs somewhere distant, faint hoofbeats lost beneath the wind.
faust snorts, shakes the frost from his shoulders.
another day. another march.
he lifts his head, licks his lips, and continues on, carving his scent into the earth until no ghost nor god could mistake who rules this glacier.

the feeling which had initially urged her to seek shelter and led her to faust's doorstep, this brightness and sweetness, had found new depths prior to the arrival of the cousin; and now, the morning after, sulukinak felt as if she burned. it thrilled her, towing the line between fear and exhilaration.

she reeked of the man by now, more than any other scents she had previously claimed. from her sprung a fountain of desire, and a lure, and she felt at once to be the spiritual successor of nukilik. she understood her mother's ways now; of this she was certain, and above all she was not satisfied.

bolting among the trees as if ravenous, sulukinak found the trail of the chieftain. she had come to know only some trails here upon the glacier, however he had left a trail which tapered along the claim's limit.
weaving eagerly between trees, she prowls close—as if drunk on her own biology.

sneaking in here...

the glacier was hardly the wilds she was accustomed too. her distaste was evident in the way she sulked about, a sneer upon her lips. her paws ached from the bitter cold—there were no patches of grass to warm them up on. the north is always familiar, but this? this is an annoyance. 

couldn't of faust claimed a forest? 

whatever. she would stew in silence. the only positive is the winds always carried scents so clearly, so vividly. the allure of faust ever present. enticing. she follows, of course, to pester the man as he works. 

it seems though, she wasn't the only interested. a woman trails behind, one unfamiliar. and she fucking reeks of blackfell. her lip curls, eyes narrowing. two questions on her mind then; why was this woman whoring herself out to that bastard, and what is blackfell even doing up here? 

she storms forth, steps in front of the woman with a lash of her tail. head risen, shoulders squared. staring down at her as if she is nothing but a serf. "you," she sneered. "you smell of blackfell. couldn't keep his hands to himself, hm?"

or perhaps she couldn't keep her legs closed.

something stirs dangerously in her chest. jealousy, though she dare not name it, as Faust was not hers to claim. hers to be possessive over...

and yet, this woman does not own him, either.

he had smelled her long before she approached, her scent weaving through the frozen air like an intoxicating spell. it was thick, heady, impossible to ignore. his body ached with it, his blood drummed in his veins like a war beat.
his restraint was legendary. but even a king could falter.
he turned as sulukinak prowled closer, her movements unrestrained, eager. she was drunk on herself, on him, on the pull of nature, and for a moment—just a moment—he allowed himself to revel in the thought of it.
then came svalla’s voice, sharp as a blade cutting through the fog of his thoughts.
his emerald eyes flickered, drawn first to sulukinak, then to svalla, whose form stood rigid, demanding. an old, familiar thing twisted in his chest, something territorial, something protective. his cousin—fire-born, fierce, full of the same hunger he bore. she was not wrong to question, but her words stoked an ember that had already been threatening to consume him.
it is not a crime to indulge in pleasures, svalla, he finally spoke, voice rough, rasping, guttural from the weight pressing against his chest. his eyes lingered on her, testing, pushing—challenging her so called claim, if she dared to make one. especially when her body demands it.
he stepped forward then, slowly, methodically, towards sulukinak, his presence swallowing the space between them, his breath ghosting against her fur. he was close enough to feel the heat rolling from her, his body betraying him with its own response.
but he did not touch her. not yet.
instead, he turned his head just slightly, gaze flickering back to svalla.
or do you object?
his voice was knowing, edged with something dark, something teasing—something just for her.

the chieftain had not been interested in her before; she had not work hard enough yet to earn his attention, and was not bothered about that fact. he had others to keep him company; and one such creature slunk from the snow-capped shadows to directly insert themselves: keshka?
no—a mother? a sister? the shadow girl did not know this woman but they could have been twins. the way she moved was both precise and predatory; her voice commanding, and insulting, somehow. sulukinak was reminded of the accusatory way blackfell had asked if it had been her first time—and this woman held that same tone, but with different words.
it confused her.

the sneer of the woman was met with an owl-eyed blink—and she began to lift her lip, not sure why she was so bothered by the assumptions of the stranger, but affected by her hormones. as the tips of her fangs flashed, the focus of sulukinak's affections shot back with his own answer.
not a crime.
and swiftly sulukinak poured herself around the stranger woman, to keep close to faust, as if he might protect her, defend her. he wanted her and he was chieftain! there was nothing the bitch could do but watch, or leave.

the audacity. the pure fucking audacity! svalla would have worn a look of shock, should her pride if allowed it. Faust took to the fiendish woman with a quickness that made the wildlings stomach turn. her disgust scrawled across her face, her lips curling with distaste. 

Faust taunted her. goaded at her. and the woman—her scent sickly sweet—cowered at his side. she could have torn the woman limb from limb. stripped her fur from flesh and worn it as a fucking robe. 

and yet, despite the gnawing jealousy that twists at her heart and makes her want to bite, she does not. 

no—she would match this audacity with something crueler. something petty. instead of unleashing her wrath upon the whore that wound herself around Faust, she smiled. 

humorless. sharp. conniving. was it lesser, to stoop as low as she was about to? 

perhaps. but did she care? no. 

Faust wanted to taunt her? she would play his game. 

"oh, it is not a crime? how silly of me." she mused, taking a step away from the cowardly woman. she paced slowly, a sway in her hips. her tail curling at her hind; deliberately, a tease. so long as she had faust's eyes on her, she was winning. 

with a knowing smirk and a mischievous glint to her eye, she takes a few steps away from the pair. "then i'll find a man to warm my bed tonight." she stated so casually. turning away from the pair, her muzzle reaches toward the sky. 

"enjoy your whore, Faust." she purred. it would not last, and she would stoop as low to take another. to wound faust the same way he thought he would wound her.

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faust watches svalla with an unreadable gaze, though the flick of his ear betrays something deep, something unspoken. she wants to provoke him, to slice at the nerve that keeps him composed, but he is not a man who breaks so easily. still, something burns beneath his ribs as she purrs her parting words, the tease of her hips like a blade dragged slow across his skin.
enjoy your whore, faust.
his lip twitches, the only sign of the seethe curling through him like smoke. his eyes linger as she moves, but his arms do not open for her. let her play her games. let her find some poor fool to entertain her wrath. it is not svalla's rage that unsettles him—it is the sting of possession, the gnawing weight of knowing she would lay with another to make her point.
his, they were his. darukaal's.
his chest rises with a slow, steady breath before his head turns back to sulukinak, and she is still there, still his. her body winds around him like something meant to be kept, and he does not shy from it. no, he embraces it, pulling her into him with a nuzzle deep against her neck, smothering blackfell’s scent beneath the strength of his own. mine.
you are no whore, his voice is low, steady, a growl softened into something near tender. it is your body that yearns. he does not blame her, does not shame her for the instinct that pulls her to him. this is how it should be.
his teeth graze the base of her ear, a breath warm against her fur. you wish to bear cubs for darukaal? his question is not demanding, not forceful—it is an invitation, an expectation, a path lain at her feet should she choose to take it. the glacier would take her as its own, and he would see to it that she remained under his banner, untouched by those unworthy.
faust does not look back to svalla as she vanishes into the distance. let her stew. let her wound herself with the choices she makes. she will learn, as all do, that faust does not share what is his.

there it is again! a lancing tone with words she did not know. there was an accusation there, clearly, and a threat; but the woman did not linger and sulukinak was grateful for that. not because an audience would disturb her—she would not know unless she experienced that—but the woman's harsh energy had antagonized sulukinak enough.

the chieftain did not go after her. he lingered close with the shadow girl, and soon enough made his interest clear. like with blackfell, the man moved in to a position that suggested their coming union.
in this case, they were not hidden in a sleeping place. the exposure to the open air, and the potential danger of darukaal's outskirts, made the moment feel more free and sulukinak much more comfortable.

faust refuted the claims of the woman, although he was not asked to; and as he spoke sulukinak insisted with the curve of her body against him that she needed no words.
sulukinak yearns for this; and then his voice is in her ear, some kind of promise, or a contract. for darukaal? she whines, side-eyeing him over her shoulder, but not answering in any other way.

would he deny her?

the glacier breathes cold, but she burns against him.
her body curves to his, answering in ways no words could. he does not need them. he hears her in the hitch of her breath, the sway of her spine, the way her hips settle into his space as if they were carved for it. for darukaal. it is a vow, one he does not take lightly.
her scent thickens in the crisp air, sweet and wild, and it pulls him under like a riptide. she is his now. not just in body, but in purpose. his teeth graze her nape, not to harm but to claim, to mark her as something treasured. something that belongs to him, to the glacier, to the blood they will make together.
the sky stretches endless above them, a witness to what transpires here on the edge of his claim. faust is not a man who bows to nature—he bends it to his will, shapes it as he sees fit. but here, with her, in the open air where the moon watches and the wind sings, he surrenders to it. to her.
his growl is low, deep in his chest, not a sound of warning but of reverence. he does not rush, does not seize what she does not give—she offers, and he takes. the weight of him settles over her, a presence that does not confine but consumes. they are two forces meeting in the snow, colliding like glaciers, carving something new into the land.
this is for darukaal. for the bloodline that will run strong beneath their banner, for the future that will bear his name, for the legacy that will be written in the marrow of their children.
when at last he breathes her in, when he moves as instinct demands, it is not just lust but something deeper. something primal, something ancient. a union not just of flesh but of purpose.
she is his. and darukaal will know it.

the moment to escape this fate had passed, and the chieftain took that which was offered. sulukinak received him eagerly, although she felt a now familiar burn to her skin wherever she was touched, and like with the cousin before him, the shadow girl had to endure it rather than succumb to any great pleasure.
it was too much sometimes, even as faust shifted the pace or accommodated; he was slower and more tender with her than blackfell, though the results were the same. to go from her natural state of touch-starved and avoidant to this, not once but twice in so short a time, overwhelmed parts of sulukinak's nervous system.
that isn't to say what transpired was a bad thing, or even unwanted. that primal fire in her belly was being well stoked, and soon sulukinak felt apart from herself; somehow there, not there, melded with faust, a part of the air, the glacier—and there came the stillness of after.
she wondered if sleep came to all men after, or maybe faust had a stronger constitution.

he does not take what is not freely given.
where blackfell had seized, faust claims. with patience, with a knowing, with the slow press of his lips to each place she trembles, soothing where there is tension, devouring where there is want.
he learns her like a map, tracing with tongue and touch the places that bring shivers, the places that make her sigh. she is not just a body, not just a vessel. she is a woman, and she is to be worshipped. for darukaal, for the blood she may carry, for the gift she gives him.
his hands are strong at her hips, possessive, yet he does not grip too tightly. if she whimpers, he is there to hush her, to murmur reassurances against the curve of her throat. if she shies, he is patient. if she reaches for him, he gives.
and when at last she stills beneath him, the fire banked to smoldering embers, he does not turn away. faust does not sleep.
instead, he tends to her.
he grooms her, not out of duty but desire. the slow drag of his tongue over sweat-dampened fur, the raking of his teeth through tangled strands. he licks her brow, nuzzles into the softness beneath her jaw. she is a woman of darukaal now, and she deserves to be cherished as such.
his voice is hoarse when he speaks, rasping from exertion, from whispers only she was meant to hear.
you should stay in your den.
his breath fans warm against her skin, though the meaning in his words is colder.
men will want to take you as their own, and they will die trying.
he is no liar, no romantic. he does not promise things he cannot give.
but darukaal will want her. the men will hunger. blackfell will hunger.
she should stay. for her own sake.

she existed in a new liminal space; melting in to the earth, but he was here beside her, and awake, while her skin thrummed and the sky shifted with the white of clouds. it was better here than in the earth, she thought—then he spoke and mentioned a den, and she might have rolled her eyes, sulukinak wasn't exactly paying attention to the minutae.
men would want her? good; she had come looking. the whole reason for her being within darukaal was to find what blackfell, and now faust, had given her. if more came what would she care? this was the magic her mother had left her.
sulukinak says nothing.
the man does not sleep, he does not leave; she does not mind his preening at first, but the constant fluttering of his movements as he tends to her gradually scratch away at her patience. she pulls away and out of his arms, looking back to him over the other shoulder now—like before, but without the desire.
you would kill for me? it felt like a lie. why should he say that? she was a stray woman he had found barely a week prior, he knew nothing of her origin, he knew nothing of the everdark; her approach of the chieftain in the first place had been dramatic and a cause for upset, at least to the other woman.
she wondered if her own father had made this pledge, or like all the other hungry men, took what he wanted and left. too much was on her mind, and as she grappled with the cacophony of thoughts sulukinak wanted only to be away.

faust watched as she pulled away, her body slipping from his as if the warmth between them had never been. he did not reach for her, did not call her back—he simply let her go. it was not his place to keep her.
his gaze was steady, unwavering, as she turned over her shoulder, questioning him. would he kill for her?
his jaw set, the muscle there tensing as he considered the weight of the words. she did not believe him. perhaps she was right not to. he had known her for mere days, shared only fleeting moments of passion and instinct. and yet, she had come to his doorstep, had sought him out, had given herself to him with the same wild hunger that now pushed her away.
he would kill for his women. that much was true. he would die for darukaal, for those who called this land home. but she was different—an outsider, a storm passing through.
he exhaled slowly, nodding once, accepting what she had chosen.
my women to protect, he said again, voice rough, the edges of it frayed. you should stay, here, where it is safe, but i cannot force you.
it was not cruel, nor dismissive. it was simply fact. she was free to go, as she had always been. he had no chains for her, no collar to force around her throat.
and so he watched her leave, the tension in his shoulders never fully easing, his eyes dark with something unspoken.