The Sunspire [m] carved teeth

Oblivious to the true purpose she had been found in his old den, it was still impossible to miss her ire—though he believed it could have stemmed from his comment at their last discussion an to why she remained in the creek or anywhere if she did not care if another died—on his list of mishaps, that was perhaps the highest suspect on his list.

Despite moving to skirt away from her edge and toward another side, she found him—unsurprising to the man, for she thrived on such tactics—her teeth meeting his as she lashed at him.

He maneuvered upward—no longer pressed upon a lower step than she—and while she scored him with her marks, his own ears fell back, his own rumble dark as he blocked some of her attacks—others, he remained unable to do so as she rained her fury upon him.

Only when she stopped—only when she pulled at him then in a different manner did he make to pull her roughly against him, a forelimb locked to her chest—ragged breath from their spar upon her ear. Who the fuck are you, Muskrat? Her scent was a blanket over him—a stark reminder that not only was she one of the most petite women he had saw or held, she was also the fiercest—

—and the most like a loose cannon.