Swiftcurrent Creek Indigo

The curl of his grin widens—a brief glimpse of her with a spoken word he did not recognize. His gaze roves over her lazily still—the continued setting of the sun glinting off the rich cinnamon of her fur, highlighting a slim waist and mischievous glint.

“It depends on your reasoning for being near my home,” he admits—not simply because of her assumed ties, but for the scars that do reign over his body and his brethren—the consistent threats that loomed.

“But maybe I need a closer look,” he dares, tongue snaking over a tooth and a brow lifting, wondering if he was about to scare the little bird back to her nest of well kept polished walls.

Or did she look for a safe haven from the politics and the darkness that likely lingered in the veiled rooms of such a palace?