Mount Everfall the black parade

Aitana blinked at Qvasir’s sharp remark, her smirk freezing for half a second before she let out a low, amused chuckle. “Aye, y estás gordo.” she spat with a sneer. “Get over yourself.” A scoff and she turned away from him, lithe form shifting a few steps away, snow crunching underfoot.

Wolves like Qvasir were easy to read—serious, no-nonsense, probably allergic to fun. Aitana found it endlessly entertaining, though his scolding tone was already starting to test her patience.

When he muttered his final warning, she snorted softly, her tail flicking dismissively behind her. “Oh, don’t worry, amigo. I wouldn’t dream of getting in your way.” Her tail lashed like an annoyed feline's as she trailed further away, eager to burn distance between herself and the brute.

“I don’t do well with wolves who bark orders. You’ll get more out of me if you let me do things my way.” She shot him a final glance. "Got it, su alteza?"