The Wall Toome

When he rises again the huntress finds her head driving back against the tree, subduing a curl of lip with passes of tongue. Childhood hubris had faded with age, but still she defaults to hauteur when upset. She was very aware of their physical differences, and though Ayovi was well-bred she did not have strength to match the bite of her tongue– not in the presence of the mountain wolf. A stab of fear lends a clarity that cuts right through her pride. She could not know what lengths Faust would go to prove his authority here.
Nevertheless she licks her lips and presents defensive flashes of teeth from a side-swept muzzle. Her eyes avert, looking obediently away from his figure and off to a group of bare tree-trunks in the near distance.
“Ayovi,” she answers quietly, having no idea what notion she was supposed to take from his next words, preparing regardless if he meant to press his own upon her.