Qeya River gnashing teeth

Gjalla’s gaze snapped toward him, her sharp amber eyes narrowing to slits as Blackfell emerged from the storm like a shadow given form. The sight of him, brooding and solemn, stirred a pang of irritation that coiled tightly in her chest. His approach was not one she welcomed, and her lip curled into a faint snarl. 

“You think far too much of yourself,” she snapped, her voice cold as the gale whipping around them. ”you should know I avoid most wolves. If I were avoiding you, it still wouldn’t make you special.”

A step forward brought her closer, her chin tucking as another gust fanned her pelt. “If you’re looking for something, you won’t find it here,” she bit out, her voice a low, cutting growl. “Your truth does make it my own.” Her tail lashed behind her. “Go back to where you came from, Blackfell. I’m in no mood.”