"if you dare meet my eye with yours again—" Oh, Rökkvi, you silly sap of a brute.
Valmúa closed the distance between her and her brother and the stranger quickly. It was easy to keep an eye on things when you were house-bound on the shortest leash in the wolven world.
He was standing before an arctic woman. They had tense eyes, each of them, and the poppy girl could see her brother heating the moment instead of trying to cool it down. For her part, the woman spoke strong, nasty words. Valmúa lifted a lip at the commentary, as though annoyed that this was the kind of crap she had to deal with today.
I wouldn't insult him, if I were you, she called out, barreling toward them and stopping short near her brother. She kept a decent distance between him and her, since she tended to be the person the boys redirected on when they were in foul moods. He speaks truth, we are of the Watch, she said glancing briefly in Rökkvi's direction. Whatever he had said to her had really set her off.

How dumb did she have to be to come into the Watch and talk big at Rökkvi of all people? Why couldn't it have been little Prinsessa Chanel or Viola? The only person who got anywhere close to insulting the Stormhaven siblings was her, and she had been treading some seriously thin-ass ice for some time. Rökkvi was ramped up and excited for a fight. A slight thrill buzzed through her spine as she grinned slyly while he nipped at her.
The arctic woman curled about herself to protect all of her vulnerable bits. The grin Valmúa displayed stretched further, almost cruelly, as the white girl had the nerve to demand they speak in the common tongue. The smile showed teeth, dangerous, playful. She imagined what this good-looking woman would sound like when her limbs were flayed and her insides were on display as a warning to all who came to the Watch so brazenly after her.
But that was not the poppy girl's intention, for the fire woman that had blazed in her weeks before had reduced its flame to a simmer.
My brother wants us to kill you, but I'd rather know your name, Brazen One. I am Valmúa af Stormskýli. The words were simple, pleasant. She offered her own name to start, nudging Rökkvi with her hip to correct him to a lower energy. She expected a nip in return.

Indeed she was a fiery one. Valmúa watched with amusement as Rökkvi paced. He was a tiger in a cage, a tasty treat just slightly too far from his reach. Valmúa looked at him as he complained, grinning maniacally, enjoying seeing him on a leash. The whole thing felt wonderfully ironic and beautiful to her.
She laughed as the arctic female complained of her brother's behaviour. Brazen One indeed. When she shared her name and explained the situation, the poppy girl didn't stop smiling. The Frækinneinn had sure dug herself into a lovely little hole. Obviously, she parroted, and took a single wide pace around the woman. The wheels in her head turned, and she formulated a delightful little game.
Since you think you can do better, my brother will spar with you, and we will see if you fight as well as you insult, Frækinneinn. She stood back then, glancing to Rökkvi and nodding her head. She wondered if he would really be able to hold back. The woman was not wrong. They could always use more guardians. Mostly, she just wanted to see her squirm under Rökkvi's body. Like a powerful woman with a trained tiger, she watched in excitement — glee, even.