Hushed Willows all alone

Lorcan’s smirk deepened, a slow, deliberate expression that radiated arrogance and dark humor into the cold air. His gaze followed hers, tracing the path to the scar that slashed across his own eye. He let her words linger in the silence for a moment before finally responding, his tone dry and laced with mockery.

Clearly not, he drawled, gesturing casually toward his own disfigurement with a slight tilt of his muzzle. You wear it like a crown, don’t you?

His sharp, calculating eyes swept over her, taking in the rough edge of her demeanor. She intrigued him, though her pride, brittle and defensive, was almost amusing.

Hunt, then. Nobody’s stopping you. His tail flicked lazily behind him, his posture at ease despite the tension simmering beneath the surface. His voice dipped, low and edged with challenge. Unless you need help? Wouldn’t want to be ‘bothered,’ after all.

He stepped closer, his movements deliberate, his grin sharp and predatory. Lorcan thrived on friction, and she was proving to be just the spark he needed to feed the fire.