Duskfire Glacier you touched me like that

Imaq glanced up, discreet tropical gaze moving to the man as her paw slowed in its path along the skin of the pelt's underside -- though it did not stop at first, giving the illusion that the demure she-wolf continued her work without noticing the newcomer's presence as she drank him in with snippets of glances. She pieced him together as a puzzle, stiffening as she observed the aggressive stance of alarm that overtook him for a second. Was this another Taikon, here to tell her she didn't belong? 

She stilled as the taller man approached, his size still vastly larger than her own despite the fact that he was rangier than the silver-speckled chief of their small tribe. The northron kept her seafoam peridots trained carefully on the pelt between her paws, flexing and curling her feathered forepaws into the soft marten hide as the man drew near -- awaiting derisive words. Her shoulders drew up the tiniest bit as she hunkered over the small swath of fur as if her submission might protect her from his prejudice if he harbored any.

Instead awkward, albeit warm, words reach her pinned auds, and the buttercream shepherd glances upward hesitantly. She cocked her head the tiniest bit as she tried to understand, smiling a slow, tiny grin at the humor of the situation as his nervousness registers. The tundrian can't quite figure how this Rye could be intimidated by her of all people. 

"Imaq," the cur answered, soft as the wind whistling over the glacier's icy surface.