Duck Lake the long fall

uktark watches her a moment longer, unreadable, before a low huff leaves him—something between amusement and concession.
princess, he corrects simply. not little.
his head turns then, muzzle lifting toward the cut in the land where stone teeth rise on either side—two jagged peaks, split by the narrow vein of the bypass. his tail flags once, confident, sure.
grey fangs live there, he says, voice calm, grounded. between rock and shadow.
his gaze returns to her, steady, appraising—not dismissive.
come? he adds after a beat. not a command. an offer.