Firefly Glen relationships are in the pits and nothin’s goin’ right

there is something in the way he moves; like a predator on the prowl for prey and drawing nearer without her invitation that unnerves the commander. still, she is the commander of death and she lifts her chin, lips curling back from her teeth in simple warning. she does not mind conversation but he need not come closer. she is perfectly capable of hearing him from the distance that remain between them.

a sweep of her frostbound gaze tells her that he is dirty ...though she cannot accurately judge whether he was like this before or after his arrival in the glen. to be fair, the muck splatters up her long legs; tainting the silver of her fur. she tries not to let haste cloud her judgement — unfair, certainly. surely he cannot help that he is dirty. hei, she greets in trigedasleng.

were you looking for someone? praimfaya inquires, switching back to common for his sake.