Stavanger Bay Rogue Rouge

It was fine! ^^

The howl arose for Skellige, but it was Szymon who answered the call. Drawing himself to his full height, he approached the territory borders with tattered ears pressed forward upon his narrow skull and salt-crusted hackles rippling in a ginger-tipped inferno down his serpentine spine. Leathery nostrils quivered as he filled his lungs with the stranger’s scent, finding automatic suspicion in the tendrils of familiarity that lingered in her pelt. The violet-eyed, foul-mouthed creature and the dark male who had attempted to take Qilaq from Doe had been cloaked in the same telltale, venomous mixture of swamp mire and forest. It was faint upon this female, but it was not in Szymon’s nature to go easy on new recruits — curling his scarred lips in a possessive, dominant growl, he stopped just within the borders and allowed his golden eyes to strike fearlessly for her light blue ones. She appeared in good health — her dark fur was lustrous and glossy, her eyes appeared bright and aware, and she had the good sense to keep a respectful distance from the pack territory proper. It was easy to guess what she was here for, but Szymon questioned her anyway; a simple tilt of his head and a low, guttural rumble asked in wildspeech what his wooden tongue was loathe to utter:

Who are you, and what do you want?