Duskfire Glacier nature, nurture, heaven, and home

Sangilak moves up until perhaps the fifth word he has spoken, when it registers that he speaks in a tongue she was born into. Her glacial eyes—reminiscent of her mothers—turn to hold the man firmly there, though as he sniffs at her Sangilak moves to snap at his face, whirling out of touching distance instinctively. Her aggression was growing by the day, though would abate soon. There is something that burns in her, but it is dull, more of a pain now than a yearning. His reaches? Had she missed his markings? Your reaches, she pressed then, demanding he explain himself. It was certainly not yet claimed; it was empty, barren, though the land certainly had much to offer. The only scent here was his, but there had been no borders to cause her to pause.

I know I do not trespass. For surely she would have been attacked, as the man before her did not seem soft. There was a certain air to him that exuded authority, and she was captivated by this... and yet, it was not for this place, was it? A place merely of rest, she deduced, as she looked to the earth he had been digging. And so she stared coolly at him. My kut, she informed him, vague but honest in its delivery. She presumed the same went for him, but she was compelled now to linger in his presence. Instinct bid it, and there was a strange magnetic pull to him. And yet, instinct also bid her to go, to snap at him, to keep him away. A push-and-pull war within her that her impending estrus provoked.