Deepwood Weald claws

snow dusted sólhárr's broad shoulders as he turned to face her, his dark, imposing form framed against the stark white backdrop. his sharp amber gaze softened slightly at the sight of y’var’la emerging from the shadows, her words laced with that familiar, teasing edge.

lynxes, he rumbled, his deep voice carrying effortlessly through the crisp air. they’re cunning, but i’ve caught their scent.

he paused, his eyes sweeping over her, noting the ease with which she moved through the snow, the confidence in her step. his tail flicked in a subtle motion, half invitation, half challenge.

join me? a faint smirk ghosted his features, though his tone was steady, almost serious. could use another set of teeth—and eyes. these woods hide them well.