Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Her ears were quick to flicker at the sound of the rustle and narrow on the nature of its origin. As much as one would ignore a sound for the skittering of prey, Mictec had always been one to be suspect of all, especially as the soft breeze begun to carry a foreign scent.

Quick was her smile to drop, her muscles tensing in preparation for an ambush and tail freezing in place. She gave a low warning growl before saying, "If you have malicious intentions, I am not the one to be messed with."