Stavanger Bay he finds wings

her insult earns her a curl of his lips and a bare of his teeth in a lack of appreciation for the comparison of him being as delicate as something to melt in snow. he doesn’t quite understand it but he understands it enough to know she insulted him all the same. back off his body language commands, lest he physically put her into his place. he is still her leader, and he was not the kind of man to let insults slide. if he let one do it, than more would and he’d lose respect. mind your tongue, moor. he snaps at her, tail curling above his back in a brief display.

he had no issue forcing submission, nor reprimanding when needed.

still, moor insists, drawing nearer to him with the crab. in truth, he doesn’t want to eat it. if she — or the others — wanted to dine on them then that was fine. wintersbane, however, would stick to the plentiful critters scurrying about the ashforest within their claim or within the sentinels if he had to. i’m not going to eat that. whisky-steeped voice tells her with finality, wanting to back away from her approach but also knowing by every primal law that he shouldn’t. so, he doesn’t. he stands his ground, snapping at her as she draws closer; polar gaze watching the failing claws with heavy suspicion. you eat it. he challenges.

word count: 237