Golden Glade Born of fire, bound to nothing

Slowly, deliberately, she rose from her crouch, stepping out from the shadowed underbrush with an almost casual ease. Her amber eyes locked onto the wolf who had spoken, reading the tension in her coiled muscles and frozen tail.

She cocked her head, her voice laced with feigned offense. “I’m hurt. Do I look like the type to be trouble?” She gave the other wolf a once-over, her grin widening ever so slightly. “No, don’t answer that.”

She kept her distance, careful not to encroach too much on the space around the marker.

Her grin softened into something more measured. “Relax, amiga. If I wanted to make trouble, you wouldn’t have heard me at all.”