Larksong Grotto ☾ tléix'

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It was not long before the moondancer had found company. Company that, in fact, did not seem to hold her presence in positive, even less in neutral regard. He was a boulder, or, a mountain in her path, jutting out from the greenery like a crag from cave-mouth. Guarding this land. Claiming it as his own. He did not seem the type to go peacefully.
And the woman was no fool. He had fire in his eyes; embers that danced like rage and fury and hatred. He was large, scarred, and built like a warrior. No less, a mercenary. Berserker, should she not be careful. So she spoke, light and careful: I have no quarrels with you, in her northern tongue. Please, let me pass and I will not return. Not begging, but rather, asking.
The snowhunter was not a dainty thing. Perhaps only two inches shorter than the man before her, and though she was not quite as bulky, as muscles hid rather than rippled, she was not weak. Skinny in her stomach, her face and her legs, but still, there laid a quiet power. An inheritance from many generations of taking down beasts of great proportions. Of fighting for land that was their own. Her eyes glimmered, now, ferocious in intensity.
But still, the smile that she wore was gentle, and kind. Her feet planted upon the ground as if she were ready to charge. Her tail wagging behind her, as if he were someone that she trusted. Her benevolence was no front, but rather, her whole and honest truth. Her defense was not forced, but, again, she balanced both upon her shoulders. Ever the kind warrior.