Silvertip Mountain black halo

Something in him changed, and she no longer felt the need to press into him with her fangs and demand subservience; as ever, she understood silence better than anything, and although she was not bright she could interpret that he had been displaying to her who he was. Tartok. Still, Tonravik was unyielding. Here, she was Alpha. Should he think to look within her eyes, there would be no thinking twice about attempting to remove his own from him, lovely though they were. She could appreciate the bold, but never the insubordinate. Still. It was not his intent. He was curt, respectful. And as he spoke of his origins, Tonravik understood well his behaviors. Anubivaalua. She had heard of all their bases, though the one Atuun led was a notably fierce one. Her own mother spoke of them in an incredibly high manor. She had heard stories of them as a cub. The silent and the deadly. A fitting motto. The Tartok woman could see now why he behaved as he did. He was the prince of his unit, though she was sure he was not raised as such (just as she was not raised as a princess). xxxxxx Tonravik, she introduces at last, her tone still cool. The sharp edge that had been it once before was gone. Her voice was gruff; she spoke more than her own mother, but was no more eloquent than she was, and speaking more was too generous a term for what she said when she spoke. She knew perhaps three more words than the Issumatar, the Matriarch of Tartok. xxxxxx She steps forward to greet him physically now, as though to say to Kaniq well met. The Alpha is as rough as she ever is, moving to attempt to knock into his chest gracelessly in greeting before then shifting and changing her mind in what she wanted to do next. She alters herself and furthers her attempt to keep bodily contact, moving to rub her scent into his own, claiming him again as one of Tartok's.