Arrow Lake she loves control

He watched her—the coil of his muscles stirring a primal intrigue from the pallid sylph, feeling perhaps that Stigmata had not lied when he had claimed the other males of his group to be impressive. With the season nearing, it was pointless to pretend her emerald gaze did note rove over him hungrily then. He lunged at her, a calculated and playful nip given as a spray of snow washed over her.

A widow spider waiting to pounce, she shot forward, her own teeth seeking to graze fur in a playful come-hither motion before she twisted, her paws thrumming the ground as she bolted away, curious to see if he would follow after her invitation to play.