Larksong Grotto sleeping dog beside you

The stillness was shattered by the crunch of heavy paws against stone. Crimson eyes gleamed from the shadows, cutting through the dappled light that danced upon the grotto’s walls. Her scarred pelt bristled faintly as she sniffed the air, her sharp gaze locking onto the wolf.

Snow fell in thick plumes, dancing upon the white hunter's pelt. Melting into the heat of her rumbling body. Her massive frame was obscured by the outcropping. Her eyes following every movement of the snow-white wolf as she drank from the pool. Her breath curled faintly in the warming air.

The smaller wolf moved with grace, her thick fur catching the sunlight in a way that made Sivaak’s lips twitch. It was admiration—but not in any sense of gentleness. Sivaak’s mind wandered briefly, unbidden, to what that pelt might feel like between her teeth. Would it taste like frost? Like the cold, biting air of the black sea? Or would it burn on her tongue, fiery and alive, like the scent of this strange, careless woman? Her jaw tightened, teeth pressing together as the thought gnawed at her.

The woman of snow lay down now, her form relaxed, unworried.

She waited. The hunt was never about rushing.