Arrow Lake mourntart

they met upon that court of white, thorn's inkblack frame in brief contact with the ironshod grey hunter. no words spilled from his firm mouth, but his body readily spoke for him. the brute's acceptance of thorn's presence necessitated establishing the dominant order, and thorn felt his breath quicken as he nosed the winter-plush pelt of the stranger.

pulling back, he walked with a careful gait around the warhound, noticing the lion's eye upon him. if the boundary was to be tested, it was to be done now. thorn's pared ears rotated forward, and he lifted his jaw ever so slightly to be above the proud crown of his acquaintance.

the next few seconds would be telling -- and how stigmata reacted to the cur's quiet edict would show whether the iron hound was a liege worth following, or simply abandoning there alone in his court of snow.