Seaside Moors crow feathers and obsidian

"erzulie." perhaps wintersbane was the way to describe the pre-winter chill in the air. but this man was not autumn's cold breath; he was carved from a glacier. arctic. a massive guardian to serve their equally colossal boy king. for as erzulie reminded herself, rusalka was embodied in her. not she within it.
his voice melodic and etched in a thousand tragedies seen by men of his age. primed. hale. weighted by a shadowland that only the most trained could drive from a man's spirit. powerful, the aura of him, and she did not like it. rusalka had held its peace and no more of the endless challenges had come in a long time. suppose this leonine brute saw fit to disrupt them.
but erzulie was nothing if not confident in the ability of she and her wife to maintain the way of their growing clan. it was foolish to pass upon an experienced beast, with children in the pack still too young to hunt, and snows fast looming.
"what will you give for a place wid us, wintersbane?" her gaze, weighing him.