Deepwood Weald to wield old partisans in hands as old

Sif stared at the ground between the two of them, ears tucked back against her head. The more time passed without any word out of the strange male, the worse Sif felt about the encounter. Why didn't he say anything? Why was he being so rude? Were all the wolves around here dumb brutes like this one?

A few furtive glances took in the uncultured beast. The expression on his face made anger boil in her gut, and his easy dismissal of her personal space and agency left a sour taste in her mouth. Something about his stance told her that she would not easily escape him, but Sif found his presence entirely too repugnant not to try.

Without another word, Sif turned and fled, her sleek, brown body darting easily through the trees and tangles. Hopefully, her grace and smaller form would carry her far away from the silent male and his devilry.