Blacktail Deer Plateau Mouths are dry, river runs

rusalka is a rush of things: and not a single one of them good.

Stop.

little but growing arrax's voice rises thru the trees but rusalka is already barreling towards the trespasser's scent he intercepted on the borders, like a speeding train with no intention of braking.

the few short minutes it takes him to reach them, he is at war with himself: wedged between charybdis and scylla. attack or offer a warning?

knowing that his son is there forces him to lean more towards attack, but it was not protocol. protocol was give a chance to retreat.

he crushes foliage as his approach slows, moving with bared teeth, bristled hackles, raised tail and a low snarl tearing from his throat to stand in front of arrax.

you have one chance to leave my land unharmed. rusalka moves forward then, content to bully the stranger back outside the borders.