Blackfoot Forest spit out your pride and lay yourself bare

Blackfell's weight did not ease. A towering shade of black pinning her effortlessly to the frozen ground as if she were no more than a pup beneath him; in truth, she might as well have been. Paws thick as boulders grappled with her raven fur, nails digging uncomfortably into her skin. The growl in his throat deepened, a low, resonant noise bold as a raging thunderstorm. Fern-green eyes bore into her.

His eyes jolted momentarily to the scattered caribou tracks, the creature long vanished into the emptiness of the balck forest. Bemused lips twitched into something not quite a smile—more pleased than anything to have interrupted her hunt. The sharp curve of his muzzle dipped closer, almost brushing hers, his breath warm; in any other situation, maybe a welcome warmth from the winter's bitter cold.

She couldn’t move him. He felt her paws bracing against his chest, claws digging into his fur as she tried to force him back, but her strength meant little against his sheer mass. Then, confusion. It was loud as it contorted her snarled face into something more mild, and her pretty little eyes snapped to his. Her bewildered stare spoke volumes. Blackfell gave her a smug smirk as he finally relented, moving to shove his burly form off of her, letting her back to her paws. A laugh, a chortle, fell from his thick jaws; visible as cold breath came in plumes from ice-bitten lips.

His eyes dragged over her, taking in her coiled muscles, the wild defiance in her gaze. "Last I saw, you were all silk and grace, standing behind your mother," he added with a toothy grin.

"Betrothed to my cousin, weren’t you? Pretty little thing, all wrapped up in furs." The faintest trace of something bitter crept into his tone before he crushed it beneath his pragmatism. He stops. His eyes drape her in a quiet, examining stare. As if poking and prodding at all that she had to offer. A sneer formed upon his black face.

"What happened, princess?"