Hoshor Plains You hit me once, I hit you back.

ears prickled forward as her steps slowed, tail held to a firm point skyward as she drew near enough to read the details of his face. a man still graced with the fleeting youthfulness of a boy. a yearling — though not a child.

the hurricane swelling in the pit of her chest calmed enough not to implode. a reminder that he'd not yet crossed the line of what was hers, despite his bravery in toeing it.

"you hunt near to my home," a lash of her tail, though her tone beheld only that of disapproval. he danced between protected land on either side, a childish move for one old enough to know better.

the grouse were of little concern, it was if he sought larger game that drew her worry.