Emberflame Ridge Getting Busy with a Bad Perfume

Aries was not such a gentleman as one might covet; a handsome warrior, battle-worn, imposing in nefarious regality perhaps, but no gentleman. His inceptive instinct was to size the woman up, survey for weakness, and gauge the immediate response to his presence - an instinct he followed unwittingly, by nature. It concluded within such a matter of seconds that to many, it would be overlooked entirely.

Void of trepidation; to his eye, the woman appeared of average proportions, a young female in decent health. She was swathed in a pelage of sepia, disrupted only by streaks of charcoal and an underbelly of cream - sapphire gaze, a scent of honeysuckle. Agitated by his attendance, however, for the hackles on her spine bristled apprehensively. Words fell from her tongue, and monochrome ears quirked upon his crown to absorb them.

Her greeting was blatantly ignored.

Aries weaved closer, and closer still, until they were within a few paces of one another - here, he gestured up with a pockmarked muzzle to the sky. "The storm," came the heavy rumble from a throat of steel. "Do you believe it will pass this way?"