4/24/2025, 10:35 PM
snagging! if we could forward date it a bit that would be lovely ;)
the scent of soot reached him first.
not the kind born from hearth or warmth—no, this was something harsher. scorched. unnatural.
faust stood still at the river’s edge, half-shadowed beneath the broad shoulders of stone. the current whispered against his legs, cold and constant, but he did not move.
his eyes narrowed across the bank.
a figure.
foreign.
filthy.
she wore the ash like a second pelt, and it clung to her in streaks and flakes. he made no sound. the wind shifted, and he caught it again—her scent, yes, but layered beneath it something older. a memory.
tikigak.
his jaw flexed once.
then stillness again.
he said nothing.
he simply watched.