Tormented Tarns The crow

A huff of breath escaped his nose, curling in a plume around his scarred muzzle.

“You’re the one fucking looking at me,” he said, voice gravelly, low.

Blackfell shifted his weight slightly, claws digging into the frost-rimed mud as he held her gaze. “Well?” he pressed, his head tilting slightly, just enough to give the impression of impatience without fully committing to it.