Stavanger Bay Doing everything I can to justify your arrogance

the ebony pelaged woman stands out among most scenery; as sore a thumb as wintersbane himself, especially in the light of day when the shadows slunk hard to find. black leathery nostrils flare, sniffing 'round the rabbit carcass cradled betwixt his jaws as he scents her; a faint and fading scent of others upon her.

ideally, the hale tundrian would've liked to have buried his quarry rather than bringing it along for the interception but ...the idea of someone lingering on his borders prickles at him.

ironking's steps slow as he approaches, posture dominate even as he pauses to unload his cargo behind a rock — hoping no scheming and sneaky scavenger will steal it while his back is turned — and draws nearer still; salmon pink tongue drawing across his muzzle in a half-hearted effort to clean it.

you find yourself at ironclan's borders. i am it's saltking, wintersbane. he introduces, leaving the statement open ended so she could supply what brought her here.