Honeyed Pasture the stars at night are indifferent to our plight

She sees the figure ahead of her only by the tips of her ears and shoulders. Her hackles ruffle along her spine, making her already large form even bigger. She lifts her head—in both with an air of superiority as well as an attempt to see whom is up ahead—but she cannot garner a better looked from the distance. The wind shifts a little, her ear twitching as Étoille comes to one side just in time to hear the sneeze from up ahead, causing her to flinch in surprise. Lips twitch to show teeth that goes unseen in the moment but she does not stifle a step or two closer to disengage the threat.
 
While she does not have a claim to back up her stance, in the presence—and easy approach of the rest of her crew—of her own wolves, she still holds herself as if these lands belong to her. “Show yourself,” she demands in a low, gravel tone. The brute to her side is noted from the corner of her eye but she does not break away to greet him, though her appreciation will be addressed later.