Dragoncrest Cliffs armadillo cloak

Ever since Chacal had started to show, Svalinn began wagoning around a metric shit ton of confidence wherever he went. He was not so bigheaded to not pay proper deference to his superiors, and he most certainly did not smile at others, even in jest, but there was practically nothing that could level his tail or make him seem less proud of the life growing inside the gilded Tanzanite.

He strutted through Sapphique now, a limp-bodied stoat in tow and a drizzle of rain on the horizon.

Even as she matured, Astera kept her troublesome nature alive. Despite her good-natured sentiments, it would likely never fade. Svalinn was mean, she had decided. Too pompous, too much of a better-than-you air around him. It shouldn't be allowed to continue, was her verdict. 

She followed him with much stealth, hiding in the beach grass. The stoat was her target. When she felt the moment to be right, the pale yearling flung herself from the grass, aiming to snatch the ermine from his jaws.

What the FFfff—! Oh, great. It was Greedy’s [Sobeille’s] orphan crony, Snoopy. An excellent case study in never being able to mind one’s business. She stood in a position to gloat, his weasel now firmly captured as her prize.

But Svalinn had thicker skin than that. He’d once been raising two teenaged girls while battling a harpy wife with a (obviously undiagnosed) personality disorder. He’d weathered through worse. Initial outrage turned to petty awfulness. His tail never lost height.

How thoughtful, he deadpanned. I appreciate you taking that to one of the hungry mothers for me. Good to see you finally pulling your weight. A sneer curled his lip, turning to march away from the attention-seeker.