Qeya River draw a line in the sand

Gjalla doesn’t look back at him as she walks. His quips are dull knives; she has endured sharper, endured worse. But the audacity of his persistence pricked at her patience. Her steps don’t falter, but her posture tightens, a warning she doesn’t bother to voice. 

She casts a glance over her shoulder, her icy gaze meeting his crimson one. The look she gives him is incredulous, dry enough to bring drought. "And, how, exactly, did we come to that conclusion?"

Her muscles ripple beneath her pelt as she adjusts her path slightly, brushing him off as one might an irritating gnat. "Go right ahead," There’s venom there, laced with agitated amusement. "I could do with the quiet."

When his shadow looms too close again, she lets out a low, disdainful snort, her ears flicking back. "Mm. The world has a twisted sense of humor, doesn’t it?" she retorted flatly before allowing silence to settle once more, a short reprieve from his endless chatter.