The Bracken Woods blood-freezing

Thuringwethil leans her weight into the stick, breaking it in half once she’s made enough noise. The desired response was given and the male noted her presence. He shifts quickly into a defensive position and the flash of teeth don’t go unnoticed as she remains still and, for the most part, neutral. Scuffles with lone wolves haven’t really been in her agenda since the male by the river had taken a swing at her.

He loses his defensives, cupping his ear forward and getting as relaxed as she suspects he’d get. He doesn’t offer to close the distance, either, and Thuringwethil finds herself taking another step forward. Tail waves lazily behind her but her head counters with a little more dominance than some pack wolf crossing paths with a straggler.

“Hello,” she decides to greet, speaking first when she’d usually hold her tongue. One brow quickly raises, her own curiosity pulling her attention.