Northstar Vale word of mouth

stærk’s lip curls, disdain crossing his otherwise stoic expression. this wolf, with his clipped words and self-important tone, grated against him like ice beneath claws. were it not for sólhárr’s name riding on his tongue, stærk would’ve been more than willing to teach this pompous brute some humility—perhaps leave a scar for him to remember the encounter by.

but he doesn’t. instead, he locks his single, searing eye onto the man, pinning him with a gaze that burns cold and sharp. no words follow; he won’t waste his breath. he’ll leave and move on to the next pack in his path.

stærk dips his head—not that he wanted to. his movements are swift as he turns, the ache in his limbs hardly noticeable against the simmering irritation that thrums beneath his pelt. without another glance, he begins his departure, his paws crunching softly against the frost-laden earth.

exit stark