Noctisardor Bypass in the moonlight

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there is an irritable lift of the blackbird's lip in response to what she says. but he says nothing, only offering her a grim look past his shoulder, and then he continues on.

several more feet before he speaks, a rumbling voice much like viscera caught in his throat. of course. blackfell snorts.

his tail gives one violent, agitated lash at his flank and he moves to jut past her, cutting her off in her path as he crosses the stream they follow. cold, freezing water splashes at his paws and legs, though he persists.

seemingly unbothered by the winter he had been raised amongst.

what are you doing here, girl? his northern dialect grates, you should find a nice, warm pack to cuddle up with. these are cruel lands.

and you look soft.

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