Duskfire Glacier stolen breath

she sees the shift—something feral, something dark slipping over him like a second skin. it does not frighten her. no, it excites. she welcomes it, the rawness of him, the way he moves without thought, only instinct. a beast unchained.
her paws slide back, graceful, measured. she does not flee—never. but she tests him, teases the edge of his control with every step, every calculated movement. how far will he go?
his snarl is a raw thing, guttural, clawing at the cold air between them. she sees the haze in his eyes, the specter of something past, someone else. but she is not them.
she is késhka.
and she does not yield.
when he lunges, she does not retreat. instead, she meets him, twisting at the last second to let his weight crash past her, a ghost of a smile curving her lips. her tail flicks once, taunting, and then she moves, darting in low, fast, her teeth snapping just beneath his jaw—not to wound, not yet, but to remind.
focus, soldat.