Hushed Willows Ironborn.

Quiet, at last. Stillness. Submission. Rökkvi, with his hackles still spiked and his proud tail still arched to communicate his place in the pecking order, felt triumph course his veins as champagne eyes stared unwavering at the back of the other male's skull. With a determined sweep of his tongue over bared fangs, he leaned forward.

Looming over the silverwhite's slim frame, Rökkvi reached to grip his alabaster snout between his jaws. He squeezed the tips of his canines to either side of his snout as he roughly pushed his chin into the dirt, puncturing just enough to sample the metallic tang of fresh blood. He dragged the moment out cruelly, then slackened his hold to step clumsily over the weakling wolf and carry on his way, intent on taking advantage of what his territory had to offer.