Fox's Glade all teeth

asvardr stands massive, motionless, unblinking.

mist slithers snakelike through his coarse coat, clings to blood-caked fur like a forlorn lover. one ear twitches at the stranger's approach, but he does not turn. does not need to. his presence fills the glade like a thunderclap, heavy and inevitable and damn near explosive. ruby eyes, sharp like glass, fix on the treeline with a silent weight.

when he finally moves, it is with the steady roll of muscle beneath hide. the skulk of a creature bred not for speed but for certainty. no growl. no sound. he cannot, for his throat bears the thick, matted remnant of some old wound, a puckered and savage tear where his voice once lived. all he has within him now is breath and body, and that is enough.

finally he turns and meets the man's gaze, and he does so with the dominance of one who bows only to his king. tail high, shoulders squared.

this land will have purpose now.