Qeya River Shadowblight

The man’s smooth remark, and his ability to act unbothered, got right under Shadowpaw’s skin. Her large ears pressed flat against her skull while her lip wrinkled to show a needle sharp fang. “Psttchh,” she huffed, grocery list short of one witty rebuttal.

Just about when Shadowpaw was ready to dispose of their conversation like a used and crumpled up wrapper, the man said something that made her want to open it back up and lick out the crumbs.

“Winter’s Wake. Sounds like a Clan name,” her wry voice appraised, thick with souvenir. If there was one thing Shadowpaw was passionate about, it was her religion, handed down by her cherished Papa. "Shadowpaw," she quickly supplied. A small cringe accompanied the apprentice name she so despised. The suffix, paw, should have been long shed by now.

“So what’re you peddling?” the girl inquired… but the way her chin tipped back as she spoke alluded that her cup was already poured full by another. She was interested in what he had to say, if only to learn of another creed that Starclan had full superiority over.