Permafrost Hollows my fathers blade

The winds stir with a ferocity that might have matched the stir in her chest and in her heart. With it comes the arrival of a man dark and troubled—familiar. As if his name balanced on the tip of her tongue. Tall and honed and he would have been handsome, if not for the curl of lip and flash of teeth he sends her way. 

You. The hair along her spine bristles. Muscle shifts beneath her pale fur as her stance subtly broadens. She doesn't like his tone, the fury in that one eye of gold that's scathing. A dagger pointed at her heart, ready to plunge and twist.

 

Steel is drawn in the form of a sneer. Lips curling to reveal teeth she aches to use, her tail lashing at her hind with energy pent up. She does not cower—she never would. She simply raises her head taller so she can properly leer at him with eyes as cold as the glacier she came from. 

"What do you want?" Svalla spits with venom. Fighting words, as she simply doesn't have the patience for the dramatics of pompous, angry men. A bold step closer, a bash of her shield. It is then recognition flickers across her features, before they draw taut. 

The married man who she almost bed with long ago. With a smirk, she goads him. "Trouble with the wife?"