Raven's Watch tìvilar

She does not see Faust’s movements, instead feeling them in the voice that ducks through the warren. Eyes find the powder at her feet, resisting an urge to fling snow into the smirk she knew was waiting.
Of course he was a wonder. She’d never seen so tall and wide a man as him. The contrast in their steps was confounding. But Ayovi had not looked upon him longer than a breath; did not see into his face or behold his character beyond the strength that confined her.
Even now, it intimidated. She knew she was testing fire in a way that would have found her damned by her Ashēer’s band chief. Despite the alarms that trigger in her head about what she knows of him— everything painting Faust as a man whose temper should be placated— she loathed the idea of being reduced to a mewling woman for this man. She was not his wife. He was owed none of her submission.
“And for what?” Ayovi retorts hotly, ears pinning again, “you’ll be sorely disappointed at the end of this foray, wolf, when you’re a hundred miles from home with empty arms.” If her body shakes from the nerve, she tries to hide it in the clench of jaws; the shuttering eyes.
This was not a clash of ego— it was a challenge for supremacy.