Bearclaw Valley some kind of metal made up from glue

this sensation was new to astara. it drove her to want both inclusion and isolation - it drove her mad.

crunching snow between her jaws she watched as merrick approached, moving at a stormy pace. her gaze met his roving eye, flat and sulkily. his lust rose off of him like dark smoke, clouding astara's frustrated emotions with an overarching need to meet him..

but she was confused and resentful of this otherworldy whisper of instinct. it was like no other intuition astara had felt -- its strangeness made her feral and uncooperative. it made her suspicious. it made her desire to fight against it and its increasing occupancy in her personal space.

just as merrick was to embrace her astara rose with a start, a lethal snarl sounding like gunshot from her tensed jaws.