Silvertip Mountain Profound

The other did not take well to her posturing, and Tonravik let out a low snarl. Tuwawi had yet to step onto the land itself, truly, and so Tonravik turned her body sidelong so that the red-furred woman could see the length of her. Her intent was to inform the other of her possession. The Mountain was her own. The other was free to roam, but not here. The Tartok woman would do more than simply tread on the scarred female, otherwise.

Tonravik did not move otherwise, waiting for the woman to respond in whatever way she might. She herself took a single step forward, but her eyes lingered upon Tuwawi, not at all expectant but hard, curious. Her fangs, thus far, were sheathed. What the red woman perceived as excessive confidence Tonravik knew to be what was her right. She was an Alpha, a woman who would change this peaceful place, shake the bones of those that believed the weak had any place at all in this life. Her mother had taught her, and taught her well, how the body was ones greatest tool. Tonravik asserted herself with this rather than words. Words were wind, water, sand. They could not be grasped. Tasted, but how it left one always wanting! Slipping away. Actions could not be doubted. How sincere her every movement was, would always be!