Bearclaw Valley eyeshine

Only when Arielle arrived did Aventus pull his eyes from his sire. They swept once over the newcomer again, accompanied by a flip-flopping in his belly that surged into possessiveness when they landed on the Bruin-heart. Not her scent, either, but in her presence, he had eyes for no one else. The Bruin-jaw pressed subtly closer to her when she stepped back from his father, looming, hoarding her to himself in a way, and unabashed by the eyes that might be watching. With his sense of control on tenterhooks, it was a wonder he did not try anything else.

Merrick opened the floor for Æsilfír then. Aventus snapped his eyes back to her, appraising now not with the hungry eye of an insatiable young man, but the critical eye of a leader on a new prospect. Shorter than he thought a capable hunter should be, but with a long, willowy body that hinted at spryness. That was about the sum of his thoughts, because her accent was so difficult for him to parse that when she asked if they had any questions, he nearly asked her to repeat herself.

Instead, he just lifted his shoulders in an unconcerned shrug. She would prove her claims or she would not. Was she an Arielle or an Ashlar? Time would tell. Aventus had no reason to turn her away and, deciding this business was concluded, abruptly turned his muzzle into the side of Arielle's neck, proving more forward than he ever had been before. He nipped gently, but mostly lingered there, inhaling her warm floral smell and using it to block out the maddening aroma on the breeze.