Luneshale Pass emotional torture

He comes forth. Oblivious to the prying non-wolven eyes upon their shoulders, her head raises in a show of calm strength. I invite you to talk with me while we patrol, studying, calculated; blistering gaze as she watches his form, the flex of muscles beneath skin. I would like to get to know you. You are courting my Queen, after all. and he would, one day, perhaps, be pharaoh, though she would sooner die before she said it. Either way, she would have to grow accustomed to his presence within her homelands.
She leads him along a stretch of sun-baked sand, the scrub and sagebrush a guide. Stride heavy and yet graceful, tail in a rigid flag, and never once does her gaze wander. Tell me of yourself.