Sun Mote Copse Shine Bright Like A Diamond In The Sky

Giana Marie Angelo sneered in the face of danger, spat at her enemies paws, tore flesh and would end lives with her very own fangs should the need arise. A woman with the will of an inferno, fully independent and more dominant than any subordinate should be, prouder than the gods themselves perhaps. The ivory fae bowed to no man and pushed the limits of every being she knew, friend or foe. Even with the tempered knowledge that Molech was ever in control of her life, the woman could never truly accept the rule of another over her, nice as she played.

When faced with herbs, however, her blood ran cold.

The haze of happiness that stargazing brought was shattered at the approach of not just a packmate, but the Katimir that ruled the others. Gia knew full well her rights as a woman over him, but despite her normally sexist nature, she only fixed that storm cloud gaze on Ar-Khalba mistrustfully. He was a man Eshamun trusted and that had been around the woman much longer even than the rust-crowned femme, but it didn't write him onto her "okay list".

Especially when he came bearing herbs.

Her lips turned upwards in a momentary warning that he should come no closer, nostrils flaring to take in the scents of what he carried but ears fanning forward in curiosity; though he likely couldn't see it from where he stood slightly below the den mouth, her tail was curling over her faintly raised hackles.  Her questioning stare slipped from the red man to the plants he bore, brow furrowing -- like all herbs, she had no idea what it was. Chosing to stay silent, Giana licked her lips anxiously and awaited his request: clearly, he would have one? Why else would he be here?