Felltree Marsh [m] alive!

His agitation only grew with each passing moment. Tybault wasn't sure what to make of him. Dagur. Dagur of Dragonspine. He stepped closer, only just managing to stifle the reflexive bristle of his hackles.

What's it to you?

The coast, Tybault managed instead, marveling at how level his voice sounded. Still he moved closer, nostrils flaring slightly as he took in Dagur's scent. The scents of others written into his own. Abruptly Tybault wondered what it might feel like to touch him — if his fur would be soft.

And that pissed him right off.

Swiftly he closed the last of the distance between them on stiff limbs, bristling in full force now. If Dagur wasn't quick enough to avoid contact, he would find himself thrown to the ground in a chaotic tangle of limbs that sent them both tumbling into the mud. But Tybault didn't want to hurt him. He'd thought he did.

Suddenly he wasn't sure what he wanted.