Dragoncrest Cliffs schildwand

Squinting due to hinderance of his eyes, one olive one a hazed sage, a wintry-like man shouldering up to the weathered vixen. Nose bridge forms wavelet folds in the faint ghost of a snarl, the sound is rabbitsoft. There were two watchmen here, or rather another woman. Astraeus' scowl finds the bloodlet parka of her this time, not in the element of a bleeding atmosphere.
“Unless you're here to help my dad, you should go,” hissing as he says this, the dangling intimidating of his eternal grudge and somewhat experienced teeth, her incentives. Maybe not as fearsome to @Dantalion, nearer to a feline maybe.

wc: 105