Kintla Flatlands sunkissed

the undergrowth rustles before a figure leaps at her, a myriad of black and gray. her muscles coiling instinctively, fur bristling before her gaze landed on him quickly, and the tension melted almost as fast as it had built.

the hare dangled limply from her jaws, its coppery scent sharp in the air. her eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no real hostility in her posture—just the crooked tilt of her head that seemed to suggest amusement.

slowly, the she-wolf dropped her head to set down the freshly-felled hare before looking back up at him. "roan," she uttered in response, straightening her spine. "s' a bit dramatic."