Jade Fern Grove threading the needle

uktark did not bristle at her words.
he moved instead, circling her just outside the reach of teeth, snow compressing beneath his weight. his eyes stayed level with hers, reading balance, breath, the steadiness in her stance. she was strong. that much was plain. not brittle. not foolish.
his jaws worked once more, foam gathering—then he turned his head and spat into the snow between them. a dark, wet mark against white. dismissal of the comment, not the wolf.
he stopped at her flank, tail high, posture unyielding.
strength, he said at last, voice rough and unused, nothing wasted.
his gaze lingered a heartbeat longer, then slid away, already measuring the land beyond her.
she spoke much.
he did not.