Kintla Flatlands Yet I’m still running, still going

no worries!

the sound of a scuffle drew zharille's attention, and then there was a bark, and she was urged to prowl closer. she was not afraid of anyone or anything, typically, and it was the same in this instance. the stranger was hardly a concern to her—but the smell of fresh blood and meat gave her focus.

the other wolf had an offering for her. that was how she saw this moment; one giving to the other, but in a manner as such to appease, as one might a god. zharille likened herself to that god; powerful and frightening, with the ability to circumvent opposing wills as she saw fit.

the stranger gave pieces. zharille rumbled a pleased sound in the back of her throat and moved to take what was there; she did not speak, as there was no need, and whether she snapped up the morsel from the ground or pulled it straight from the stranger's own teeth did not matter.

it was offered; if it hadn't been, she was equally likely to take it anyway.