Ravensblood Forest and iron filling her lungs

it doesn't take long until a figure appears from the shadows; as if they gave birth to her. praimfaya watches as she moves with decisive purpose. frostbound gaze assess her neutrally, black leathery nostrils scenting at the air. a scent — notedly familiar — clings to her coat but there is no myriad of scents upon her pelage nor the loamy soil of the forest of the bleeding trees that gives praimfaya cause to believe the woman. trespassing? how can i trespass when there is no pack here? praimfaya inquires, gesturing to the forest with her muzzle. i scented no borders or i wouldn't be here. she speaks with the firm, diplomatic tones of wanheda but suspects that the woman, whom has so brazenly accused her of trespassing, was not of the diplomatic sort; an assumption based solely upon their minute of interaction.

---

142 words