Blackfeather Woods she's the giggle at a funeral

the man had strength, that was clear. the way he held himself was prideful but she saw in him a shadow of herself; that was perhaps too literal given his appearance, but zharille saw what she wanted. he was healthy and rivaled her in size and awareness; he held a commanding presence.

she licked her lips. her eyes remained averted, but she keened a note for him, and pulled back her ears so that she might look smaller. as she stood she raised her head and briefly they were matching in pose - and she made her sound again, and let her tail sway up and then down before he could take offense.

i'm strong like you, she was saying. a rival to his own standing perhaps, or an attempt to prove herself and her wants to him. powerful, that's what mattered. the next time she saw him, she would not be so diplomatic.