Ravenshook Cliffs crow's feather

An unfamiliar scent wafted through his nostrils and the inky male turned his sharp gaze to peer curiously at an equally dark woman who had found her way to the stoop where he stood. The fur along his spine and neck stood on end and he drew his lips over ivory canines. Long ears flattened to his skull and the brute turned his body, dangerously close to slipping over the cliff’s edge, to face the shadowy stranger who had met him on the rock.
 
She appeared to have been searching for something. Skellige did not care for what. His own pursuance was the only thing that flickered through his mind, and he would not have this dark-furred stranger stand before him without uttering a word. The inky cunt…
 
Hackles rising, Skellige watched her with a cautious gleam to his mahogany gaze.