Permafrost Hollows Who does she think she is?

@Mother Temptress MT is still more than welcome to join, but i'll take anyone

Qeorvik, poor handsome Qeorvik. He did not like to be alone. He was far too good-looking not to be seen, and it was lonely when there was no one around to praise him. Halldóra was nowhere to be found, perhaps sick of him, like the rest had been.

No one so far had stayed in Qeorvik’s life. But to him – for his sanity – this only meant that they were unworthy of him.

It was morning now, colder than the morning before, and the snow fell in a steady drift. The silver-footed ranger emerged from the depths of the protective hollows beneath the mountain and started his journey westward. Nose to the ground and snow blanketing his back, he searched.

Raelle seethed her way north, traveling in such a foul mood that no one dared to approach her. Strangers turned the other direction when they saw her, and Rae was glad for it. If she had to speak to anyone, she was certain it would only be to tell them to fuck off. That was what everyone seemed to want to do anyway, eventually. Why not skip the middle? It was a waste anyway.
For some reason, the silver-pawed wolf she crossed paths with under the shadow of a cold mountain did not inspire the same immediate agitation. He was alright to look at; maybe that was it. Rae still eyed him with disdain as she drew to a halt some distance off, her expression equal parts expectant and judgmental. Very speak, peasant vibes.

Lifting his head when movement was detected in his peripheral, Qeorvik met the choleric blue gaze of a complete stranger. Their redburn pelt stood out among the winterwhite surroundings, and the wolf looked at him with such utter contempt that he felt it could have withered summer vegetation even easier than fall.

He found this compelling, even if the wolf was pitifully small.

Þú starir vegna þess að ég er myndarlegur, já? His tail lifted proudly and waved back and forth like a castle’s banner in the breeze. Hver ertu?

Raelle laughed to hear the nonsense that poured from him. You sound like you've been gargling river rocks, ya know, She informed him haughtily. Waste of a pretty face. The words weren't really meant for him. She was thinking about someone else, someone with eyes like a rainforest —
So are you stupid or like, deformed? Rae took an invasive step closer to peer at his mouth and his throat, but she was only making a show of it. She didn't really care. Nothing looked wrong with him, though, from the cursory inspection she did give him.

Qeorvik didn’t need to understand her every word to know the tone. Every part of him pointed forward with aggression as his lips curled into a derisive sneer. Stupid? he repeated, somehow just as snobbish. No, no, kjána stelpa. I knowing more. Arrogance licked his every erroneous syllable.

Sá heimski ert þú, the boy asserted. You only speak weak tongue. Ugly tongue. His muzzle curled in distaste, his whiskers trembled at her nearness. My pretty face not waste. Yours.

Raelle took two things from the boy's cute garbled little speech: first, he was definitely stupid; second, he definitely wanted her. Probably he was so defensive because he'd been propositioning her and felt rejected. Your mom didn't think my tongue was ugly last night, She shot back, stooping to his level only for the satisfaction of seeing him get angrier. Maybe he would cry.

The implication behind her words went right over Qeorvik’s meaty head, though he did recognize it as mean-spirited and had a hard time believing she actually knew his mother. There was no reason to defend a parent he couldn’t remember or care less about, and he wouldn’t, yet he still could not stop himself from trying to rebut the girl’s expertly-served banter.

Who care what she think? he snorted, rolling his eyes, taunting her with the knowledge that she could not hurt him with this particular insult. He saw her as less of a threat in that moment; all bark and no bite. Good for you, get praise from small brains. Tell her to be dropping dead next time see her. He turned away from the firebrand with a lash of his powdered tail.

He did not rise to the bait; instead he started to walk away with one last retort, and Raelle sprang after him. She darted forward to nip at his hocks as he turned, fully prepared to duck away from a returned strike. Rae wasn't intending to hurt him, not really. She just wanted his attention. She wanted him to turn back and face her.
There was no explanation for it. Rae was pretty sure she hated him. But that didn't mean she was done with him.

Perhaps if he had grown up socialized around wolves his age, Qeorvik would have known better than to turn his back. But as things were, he was entirely unsuspecting to the attack coming his way. And this would mark the very last time he would ever turn his back on a stranger.

Her teeth pinched him hard on his hind leg without breaking the skin. He yowled, more from surprise than pain, and rounded on her with a vicious snap that she easily evaded. Tíkin þín! he snarled, surging after her in an effort to either catch or chase the firebrand in retribution.

Rae was more than happy to be pursued, slowing just enough to let him think he might catch her before she would inevitably make a sharp turn and dart away. And if he didn't tire of the chase, she would keep this up for some time. At least until he seemed worn out enough that she could turn back and perhaps harass him a little more.
She didn't want to hurt him. He just needed to lighten up, learn to take a joke. Rae was determined to be the one to teach him this, one way or another.