Swiftcurrent Creek and i'll use you as a warning sign

This is going to work.

He would more than suffice, she thought, and when he stepped closer still he wrenched the breath from her body though her heart continued to thud wildly inside her chest. She could have been tipped over by the slightest breeze at that point, so it was fortunate for her that the winds were still. She yearned for his touch, burned for it.

Dark fur- not chocolate, but close enough. She could forgive the silver dappling at his hackles. His eyes had more yellow to them than what she sought but she could envision them in her mind as being orange lanterns; she wouldn’t be looking at him duringthe act anyway. Any discrepancies in the resulting litter she could write off as markings having belonged to her father, her mother, her siblings.  The kids could simply just be more her than him, it was plausible.

But with his words he denied her, and she felt spite coil and rise within her aching breast like a cobra. It was impossible for her not to take this additional refusal personally. She huffed, her breaths cutting the air in short chuffs as she grappled with denial, baring her teeth in disdain. She twisted her features into a grimace of fear and dread.

Unwanted.

It stung. For someone who wanted very much to believe that nobody else’s opinion of her mattered, she was surprisingly thin-skinned. 

”Ye don’t understand, ye just-“ She blurted, her voice trembling. 

She flinched and tensed with a snap when another male approached. She squared her feet and felt the hackles along the back of her neck prickle and stand up. She was outnumbered now, with no way to know how this might play out. Maybe this new fellow was lusty, and would chase the dark one away, take her for himself. She’d allow it- she hoped for it, for a moment- but it appeared that he’d been eavesdropping on their conversation, and thought he had an idea of what was going on. 

She wished he’d simply chased the dark male off, and given her what she wanted. Now, she felt truly cornered, outnumbered- and her story was being questioned. Fortunately, Æsilfír had a quick wit- and a certain talent for spinning yarns.

She shook her head. ”No. Ye den’ understan’ me,” she wheezed emphatically. When she spoke next, it was in a low voice- hushed, and fast. ”The man I’m betrothed te? He’s old. Too old. Las’ year, he had a pretty young t’ing fer a wife, an’ she had no kids by him. The year before, same t’ing, apparently. This year? It’s me. Man hasn’t an oat to sow but nay wit te know as such an’ I seen wot ‘append to his miss from last year fer not bearin’ him heirs an’ it ain’t gonna be me this year so I’m gonna do what I hafta do an’ no, I can’t just leave coz he’ll-“ Her voice broke with a sob, and she staggered back a pace, shaking her head. Her brow furrowed in frustration. ”Not yer business. Neider of ye’ll help. Bot’ of ye, just…Fuck off.” She said with bitterness that made her tongue curl, as she turned and began to stalk off stiffly.

While the story was entirely fabricated, her frustration, hurt and disdain was very real.