Shy Deer Steppes [m] no hay ultima pagina

Didn’t run. Her first mistake.
Second is trying to reason with a man who doesn’t speak your language.

He didn’t need to know the common to tell her what was going to happen next. He grips the woman by the scruff and pillars himself over her, tail tabbing high, lips curling in a declared state of predominance.

She’s loud.
Each shriek warrants a corrective strike, a test of his honed teeth to her hide.
But she is resistant, implacable.
Needs to work herself up a bit.

Grazing his gnarled lips to sangre’s cheek, the hound whispers hoarsely against her fevered temple.
He growls, unfettering their arms.

“Corre lobito.”