Blackfoot Forest We are made of all those who have built and broken us.

edit: forward dated for tomorrow, July 12

He finds her. A nanuk of fierce proportion, his broad build and thick limbs are reminiscent of the seal's dread. He pierced her with eyes like sea-glass, the color of which she'd seen only in the lights that danced with the stars. He is handsome, an artistic part of her observes but this is neither here nor there. The fe flattens ragged ears in recognition of his brawn, hunching again as if to stop him taking notice of her. Trembling legs find her moving from the slick mud, to the side so as to keep him in front of her, a weary sort of acceptance etched into the fine features of her face.

The tundrian acknowledges his presence, though she keeps her  glassy eyes off him after her initial glance. Her legs crouch, low but parallel to the ground so that she remains below the bear. There's a taut tension of her muscles, as if expecting a blow. Even so, the sensitive and scarred folds of her upper lip twitch with the restrained urge to further reveal her incisors. She seems to be caught, anxiously so, between Don't come any closer! and Please, don't hurt me!

There's a panicked gleam to her icy eyes, though they can't be seen, that speaks of the berserker beneath. One wrong step and she's just as likely to attack as she is to flee.