SKILL holistic 1/5

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she started her day with a familiar routine. before dawn's seeping light, yusra arose. normally, she would be accompanied by other maids, still stirring from sleep. but for now, the woman wakes alone.
she stretched her limbs until she could feel and hear a satisfying crack, shaking her pelt afterwards. once refreshed, she would take a lap of water to chase away the last of her drowsiness before she set out. a rabbit for the black queen and her wards each. berries for the young ones so they may grow to be as strong and healthy as their mother. peppermint leaves so they may clean their teeth afterwards. she would have to travel quite far sometimes, but she would return not too long and with not too much of a scratch.

it was familiar to her, when so many of her days now weren't.

hope you don’t mind me, I can delete if needed <3

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Waking before dawn had long ceased to be a matter of discipline; it was instinct now, etched deep into bone and marrow. The hours before the sun’s rise were his: quiet, untouched. A time when the world still held its breath and no one asked anything of him. His first nights on the peak had offered little in the way of rest. The cave walls, though sheltering, felt unfamiliar. The scent of wolves he did not know clung too close for comfort. He had slept apart, as always, just far enough that the silence remained his own. Let them whisper that he was ghost-born, frostbound and unwilling to settle; he preferred it that way.
The wraith rose with the faint light of stars still scattered across the sky. Snow shifted softly beneath his paws as he slipped from the shadowed cleft he’d claimed, moving as fog down the ridgeline. The cold bit into his coat, but he welcomed it. A morning patrol would suffice; either to calm his unsettled thoughts or, failing that, to feed the queen’s stores. And yet... it was not game that caught his eye this time.
She was ahead of him, barely more than a silhouette against the frost-streaked brush. A woman cloaked in ice and soil, moving with the steady rhythm of one who’d done this many times before. Her silence intrigued him. No wasted steps, no idle breath. She bore the look of purpose, not pride; something too few here possessed. A loyal maiden gathering scraps for the queen, a mere servant. But Astier did not scoff at such roles. He had once worn that yoke himself, young and sharp-eyed, shadowing his father’s steps in silence. Servitude shaped a man in ways command never could. Still, he might have moved on, unnoticed, unseen, but curiosity was a quiet hunger, and this morning, it gnawed at him.
His voice slipped from between his teeth, low and even, breaking the hush without shattering it: „Up so early?” The words were neither mocking nor warm. He stepped forward with measured grace, his silver eyes tracing her form; not with lust, but with that cold, assessing gaze he turned upon all things unknown. His presence, like winter itself, arrived in silence. If she proved interesting enough... well. He might stay a moment longer.

omg not at all!!! tysm for snagging this thread, i love him already! im just sorry if my writing is a little plain/rusty!

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yusra had made a mistake believing that she was alone. but her company was not keen to making itself known to her immediately.

instead she had to feel the prick of eyes staring at her as she did her duties, followed her routine. it was normal for a maid to be watched closely, to make sure she would not betray her lord or lady or pull tricks to get out of work faster. she was used to it, even. but it didn't soften the tightness in her throat.
it was only once she'd settled, taking a small meal for herself that she had begun to investigate who observed her work. it took a minute, a very long minute. the wind refused to betray her onlooker, and to a wolf that meant she may as well be blind. it was only until he approached her himself — when he stood just a few feet away — that the woman finally could return his gaze. a man clad entirely in the piercing white of mountain snow, was it any wonder that she could not find him? there was not a stripe of black on his body to set him apart from the fields. even his eyes were a near white. had she known better, she would've believed she was speaking to a ghost.

yes her voice was clear, but monotone. her visage remained measured, she looked at him with no particular judgement. just the cold gaze of a woman doing her work. do you need something, my lord? yusra dipped her head regardless, directing her full attention to the man instead of her food. duty calls, afterall.
it wasn't uncommon for men to approach her, for food or company. she struggled to discern what he could have wanted from her. he looked at her not with a lust she, with her age, was very familiar with, nor with anger. he did not even particularly ask for anything — most lords usually don't waste time with simple small talk unless all he sought for was that.

thank you so much! absolutely no worries, your writing is chefs kiss! <3 I should apologize for my lateness

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The title lingered in the air, lord, and though Astier made no verbal reply, the title settled over him like a long-forgotten mantle. He did not flinch from it., did not scoff. Instead, beneath the quiet mask he wore, something ancient stirred; a flicker behind silver eyes, faint as the shifting of wind over snow: a quiet satisfaction. It had been some time since he’d last been addressed with deference, and longer still since the weight of such titles had held meaning. Yet now, as the name graced her tongue and hung between them as fog clinging to the stone, the wraith accepted it. A brow arched slightly in acknowledgment; restrained, but not dismissive.
„Hmm,” he murmured, just audible. He moved then, unhurried and ghostlike, his steps a silent rhythm on frost-hardened ground. When he passed her, his gaze lingered, not invasive, but calculating. She carried herself well. Older than him, yes, not with much, but there was strength in her frame, precision in her poise. She might disappear easily in a crowded square, unremarkable to the distracted eye; but not to his. No, he did not miss the way her posture held purpose, discipline.
He felt no hunger. Not for food, not now. But still, he found cause to linger, to observe, to draw out more. „Walk with me,” he stated, his voice low, etched in that glacial calm of his, though softened faintly by something more...civil. Not quite warmth, but an echo of it. Astier turned without waiting, his pale tail flicking once behind him: a clear signal, a quiet command. His steps continued down the slope, silent and smooth, as if each footfall was weighed, measured, and claimed by the land itself.
For a time, there was only silence between them, and he allowed it to stretch; as he often did. Then, at last, he spoke, voice cutting through the air like winter wind through pine. „How long have you served the queen?” There was no warmth to the question, no feigned charm, but there was curiosity, cold and watchful. He would not ask her directly about House Drakaryn, not yet. But information had a way of surfacing, if the right stones were overturned.