Bitterroot Valley garmr

When the hunting was done and bellies were full, Miska lingered in the packlands. There was hunting to be done locally. Not for moose or elk, but the kind of thing that satisfied a deeper, more visceral hunger. A hunt for beauty.

Snow fell on the black wolf as he criss-crossed the valley, nose searching high and low for the barest whiff of @Ravah, the silver mistress under the great sky. He had to meet her.

oooooooo

snow settles in the pale winter fur of ravah, a fine frost tracing the ridges of her spine and the sweep of her plume. miska would find her as she always was; poised, lean, going with grace. working beneath the lean-to of wind-bent pines, the boughs catching most of the falling white as she tends to her work. her craft was refined, taught and passed down from asheer mother to daughter.

her teeth worry at a stubborn strip of membrane, silence breeding as she does so—head snapping back when it finally gives. bracing with toughened paws, her breath ghosting in a stacatto of clouds, one after another. she scrapes, pauses, rescrapes, a cycle that is endless. it is this work she enjoys, which reminds her she is still part of her and sega's people, even with the miles between.

though even ravah cannot help distraction when a strong, masculine scent takes her by the nose. threading through the cold of winter, weaving itself between resin and snow and the faint iron of the doe. he is great sky, familiar from the moose hunt—but that is yet all she knows.

all she cared to know, truthfully. especially with an antisocial streak on the rise, taking her by the throat with pearled teeth and claws. however, those twin silver eyes raise, with ears tilting forward while she remains poised above her project.

He found her at work, stripping flesh from a hide as seemed to be the custom of many Great Sky women. Miska could not put a paw on why he found it so grotesque to save the skin when he himself had once been the proud owner of several meticulosly cleaned skulls. The flesh of wolves was dry and stringy.

Miska's own flesh felt electric. He approached the windstray woman slowly, golden eyes fixed unblinkingly on her silver. Head low. Hunting.

A wicked grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.

"Miska come to tell you," he said, "That I will have you, moja Srebrna Królowa" Because what point was there in wasting time with small-talk and nonsense. "This is promise."

she stares, unblinking. half-offended by the man's boldness, but just as well impressed by it. those silver eyes of hers are wide, only to then narrow into harsh, judging slits.
maybe man ask? ravah suggests in the form of a hiss, returning with her paws to smooth over the hide. instead he claim.
she tries to bury herself into her work again, tries to ignore the continued presence of the large man, but it is of no use. and ravah huffs an annoyed sound, turning on miska with fire in her eyes.
man all same! ravah announces, exasperated. ignorant. stinking. she steps closer to him, and closer. prowling on him now, instead of he prowling on her. ...ugly!
she didn't really think he was ugly. in fact, she thought he was quite handsome. but that was amongst the long, long, long list of things ravah would never admit.

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Apparently I'm writing present tense now for the DRAMA. Slight PP that they're circling each other.

Ravah rejects him - fiercely and without fear. The shiver that rushes down Miska's spine leaves jagged spikes of dark fur behind. She is perfect.

"No!" he retorts with a wide flash of teeth, a predator smile, "Small man ask. Limp man!" She breaks from her work, furious. Miska steps to the side when she nears and begins to circle, coaxing her into the vortex. She smells of copper and stone.

"Man all same. Ignorant. Stinking. Ugly!"

Miska aims a bite at her flank, quick as a cobra. "You will wearing stink as perfume.  You will roll in stink. Crave stink," the black wolf licks his lips, quickens his step, "I will make conquer you, silver queen, and you will be happy to licking my stinkiest places."

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she sneers. she growls. she is revolted. revolted by everything that this man stands for. from his dark, handsome fur to those leering yellow eyes. the way he baits her into a circle, and the way she falls into the trap, blinded by her annoyance.
and his words... his words... they grate. they scathe. black lips curl up above her pearled teeth which she flashes at him, jaws gaping and then connecting in an audible, clicking snap.
the bite at her flank provokes her to lash out towards him, quickening her strides to try and catch his tail in her jaw and wring it angrily, fluid and swift on a huntresses gait. in man dream! ravah rebuts.
she stops, whether or not her blow landed, and straightens her posture. heavy breathing, flanks rising and falling, and a wild stare pinned on the man. chin held high. silver not bend for dung. not now. not ever. you want conquer? again, stepping for him and jutting her face into his with a shattering snarl hidden behind her bridgework. find softer bitch. plenty in great sky!
and just to add a little salt:
maybe she teach you how to finish!

ok but. ROMANTIC?

Sharp teeth catch his tail. She pulls, hard, and Miska whirls with a roar to swipe at her cheek. Weirdly, the pain makes him salivate.

He is undeterred by her violence. Delighted by it.

Miska's breath comes in great, thick plumes. She cuts through the fog, saliva glittering on her bared teeth as she spits venom in his face.

She is so close. He can see the evidence of years. Tiny black scars on the bridge of her nose, the indescribable patina of a life lived.

"No honor in soft bitch," he says, quieter, staring into her eyes. "I wait for dream. Make war for dream. Then, when war is won," he leers, "You will to me teach."

ravah squares herself as he speaks, chest rising with great, sharp breaths, but her stillness now is not stunned, but instead, it is scathing. her eyes bore into his as he leans close and speaks with that... that... agitating voice of his.
speaking of her as if she is something to be won. a prize!
and in return, a rude laugh spills from her throat and ravah simply scoffs in his face, looking down past her silvered muzzle into his golden stare.
you not survive my teaching, ravah spits and promises, before she moves past him. a harsh shove her shoulder into his, leaning her head down to gather her pelt. if he would not leave, then she would.
and you not even know my name. ravah tsks, a lash of her tail then as she turns to walk away. good luck finding it.

She stayed longer than he had expected.

Miska leans into the shove, savouring the feeling of her warm body, the angry flick of her tail.

"Saying common wolf name for Srebrna Królowa?" he calls after her. "This sin!" Then, his voice tempered by growing distance, "You will come to Miska, beauty, skinflayer! When blood is hot and Asking Men give to you only boredom!"

He laughs. It is a beastly sound.