Hushed Willows Is your blood authentic?

Sivaak barely had time to register the lunge before the patchwork wolf was upon her, a flash of movement cutting through the cold. The sting of teeth scraped against her underside, and a snarl ripped free from her throat—a guttural, feral sound that shook in the air.

Her crimson eyes burned with a sudden, wild fury. She twisted sharply, the sheer power of her frame throwing her weight towards the smaller wolf. Her jaws snapped, aiming for the nearest vulnerable point—shoulder, neck, anything to halt the attack. Sivaak’s tail lashed violently behind her, her body a blur of bristling fur and scarred muscle as she pressed the advantage.

Sivaak twisted with a brutal efficiency, shaking off the smaller wolf’s attack like a bear shedding water. The sting of teeth against her underside was a fleeting irritation, replaced swiftly by a chilling, guttural laugh that rolled from her throat.

It wasn’t warm or amused—it was jagged, cruel, the sound of a predator savoring the inevitability of blood.

Her lips peeled back into a savage grin. “Sivaak kill.”