Blackfoot Forest starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters

something begins to smolder. a dark, twisting fire that leaps and twists along her spine. she wants to see him burn, and too does she want to leap into the flames alongside him. she sees where his gaze settled and tips up her chin, granting him better view of the gnarled wound and meeting his gaze over the bridge of her muzzle. there is a hint of that quiet ferocity there, but none of the green fire that danced there when she was his captive. "I do not break."  she offered, motionless. he did not succeed in his quest to make her obedient, submissive to his whims. instead, he whittled and cut at her until little remained but the core of her, something that had grown over the months past to fill the gaps occupied by fear and shame and regret.

his words lend fuel to flame. she remembers blood and a rabbit, and the one and only time she felt the scales tip in her favour. she closes the distance between them, somehow, and they stand close enough to burn together. she bends. she sharpens and hardens and builds herself back up, but never has she broken. she has come close, dangerously close, danced on the edge and drawn herself back. repeat. as she did that day, her muzzle slips forward and she draws her tongue across the side of his muzzle, fleeting. "you won't do that by flashing your fangs and muttering threats."  she withdraws a fraction, but does not shift.