Sunset Valley Pǎnakär

The huntress falters, shrinking from Faust as he commands a storm. Always his anger sought to cow her! If not for Skorpa watching above, would his teeth find her skin? Ayovi knew how to act with dominant Ashēerian hunt-men, but now she had seen another way too, one where she was more than ornamental. Like a creature caught between two worlds, the woman kneels, though counters with her own snarl. Ears pinned and chest heaving she glares up at the northman— cursing even now the way her body responds to his nearness; his attractiveness. As the strike of those massive jaws settle she watches the hope of an easy answer drain from his face, replaced with something softer.
She didn’t understand it— she didn’t understand him.
“I feel something for you. But it isn’t affection. I could never trust you enough for it to be.” Ayovi turns her face away, speaking softer now.
“I’ve already told you what I want, Faust. You just don’t want to hear it.”