Blackfeather Woods we are animal hungry down to our delicate bones

her victory screech as she draws blood is as close to words as wintersbane thinks he's ever going to get with astara. she is a young woman of silence, not unlike her mother. he wonders if such ability to listen and wield silence without the need for verbal communication is a gift the family as a whole possesses. regardless there are times that wintersbane is almost envious of astara's ability to do so. his tail lashes against his hocks, ears slicking back against his skull as a low bark that never pushes past his lips rumbles like distant thunder in his chest. she doesn't need the encouragement though, for quick as a cobra's strike she is lunging back at him, her sharp teeth at a toe now. a sharp hiss of pain leaves his lips and he snaps his teeth at her, teeth seeking to glide through tendrils of fur in a feign attack but his goal is to not let his teeth touch her.