Bitterroot Valley [m] mourning dove

come to think of it, veksar didn't really know where 'here' was. saatsine? there was no way he was on somebody's turf, even though the reek of foreigners is hot on his own brother's pelt. he shot the star eater a glare, one not of malice but of unease with a hint of desperation.

and then there was the whoosh of cold air and the throb in his shoulder as veksar was suddenly shoved.

i said don't fucking touch me! veksar swung before he could stop himself. his jaws clipped the air as he sprung forward, the brunt of his weight thrown upon blackfell's shoulders. his snarl rippled in long, slow waves. in this moment he thought of what blackfell said: you've grown. he sure had.

his gaze searched for the star eater, almost willing her to ogle his wanton display of violence — and dominance.