The Wall Toome

Wide Fang allows her to feed. This is a good sign. If he tended to her hunger, then he wouldn’t mean to harm her. The logic is sound, but every subsequent lift of head brings a fresh wave of caution through her breast.
Over the kill, watchful indigo eyes catch on his markings, never pulling as high as the neck, lest he change his color and take it for a challenge. She eats voraciously; greedily; savoring the taste and the sating feel of her first substantial meal in weeks.
But his sudden action surprises her.
He moves close, his maw taking her scent, touch a hairsbreadth away. She will not see him in full, entrusting only her profile and a flash of white teeth meant to secrete a jolt of suspicion. But she lowers herself all the same, tail curling into pink belly flesh even as a low growl quivers in her throat, challenging the submission.
“Not yours, Wide Fang,” she asserts with a hiss, eyes averting to his shadow.