Golden Glade poison or weed

Aitana smirked, her tail flicking behind her, scattering snow in her wake.

“Well,” her voice breezy, “I’m not exactly the self-sacrificing type, if that’s what you’re asking. Don’t get me wrong, chica, I like ya—

She glanced at Mictec, her smirk softening into something closer to genuine. “But trust? That’s a tricky one, amiga. Trust doesn’t come easy for me. Not because I don’t want to give it, but because too many times, it’s been a weapon pointed at my throat.”

She heaved a sigh as she recounted one of those many times.

"I’m resourceful. Smart enough to know when to fight and when to step back. Loyal to those who prove they’re worth it.” She leaned closer to bump Mictec on the shoulder. "Like you."

Aitana grinned, the sharpness returning to her expression as she trotted a step ahead, kicking up a spray of snow with her paw. “That good enough for you, jefa? Or should I keep going?”