Fairspell Meadow make planets out of my body

Thyri has no real interest in the berries: her tongue draws across her paw pad, against the sweet berry juice merely to clean it. She’s vain enough to mind the stain and unwilling to add the scent to her own though she knows that just from lingering in this area that the smell might linger upon the tendrils of her fur even if faintly. Light caramel gaze snaps to the direction of nearing footfalls, discerning a black shape from the tall grasses. There is a slight ruffle and rise of Thyri’s hackles as she draws in the stranger’s scent, heavy with that of a pack though not one that Thyri recognizes, though this does not strike the young, self-proclaimed queen as surprising. She knows how these Wilds change and few that remain constant through the months. Empires rise and fall in a span of months, of years here but nothing is guaranteed to remain the same. That it simply the way that it is. Thyri replaces her paw upon the ground, avoiding the squashed raspberry this time and fixes the ebon woman in an assessing stare as the other breaks the silence, inquiring about her willingness to share the berries ( so she assumes ). “They are not mine,” Thyri dispels the illusion that her permission is needed ( though for a very brief moment she relishes in it ). Berries are not a staple of Thyri’s diet and she cares not if the other she-wolf wishes to divulge in them. “They’re too sour for me.” The taste of the raspberry lingers upon her tongue from cleaning her paw, some bizarre cross between sweet and sour and Thyri can speak with a confidence that she isn’t a fan.