Deepwood Weald to wield old partisans in hands as old

Sif, not versed in this language, seemed to have inadvertently invited something she was not wholly comfortable with. When the male tried to draw closer, she warned him off with a flash of fangs and a low, uncertain growl. Still, he came closer, prodding and whuffing into her fur. With each new touch, Sif jerked and snarled, knocking her jaw into him without the courage to actually bite.

She felt violated and out of control when he was finished - a feeling she was well familiar with, but still deeply despised. With all her fur standing on-end, she backed away from the stranger as soon as she was given leave to; the urge to turn tail and run was strong, but she was not yet sure whether or not she'd be pursued.

"Dónalegur," she said sulkily, trying to maintain an air of indignation while her body tried to curl in on itself.