Duskfire Glacier [m] born with other names

sneaking in here...

the glacier was hardly the wilds she was accustomed too. her distaste was evident in the way she sulked about, a sneer upon her lips. her paws ached from the bitter cold—there were no patches of grass to warm them up on. the north is always familiar, but this? this is an annoyance. 

couldn't of faust claimed a forest? 

whatever. she would stew in silence. the only positive is the winds always carried scents so clearly, so vividly. the allure of faust ever present. enticing. she follows, of course, to pester the man as he works. 

it seems though, she wasn't the only interested. a woman trails behind, one unfamiliar. and she fucking reeks of blackfell. her lip curls, eyes narrowing. two questions on her mind then; why was this woman whoring herself out to that bastard, and what is blackfell even doing up here? 

she storms forth, steps in front of the woman with a lash of her tail. head risen, shoulders squared. staring down at her as if she is nothing but a serf. "you," she sneered. "you smell of blackfell. couldn't keep his hands to himself, hm?"

or perhaps she couldn't keep her legs closed.

something stirs dangerously in her chest. jealousy, though she dare not name it, as Faust was not hers to claim. hers to be possessive over...

and yet, this woman does not own him, either.