deemed and delivered a crime

The dame's bones quaked within her slender frame, her mind reeling as a forgotten emotion rattled the bars of its cage. A bloodthirst reaching out and aching to be released from its barren hole, to taint the blanket of white with hues of red and pink. Things were too perfect, too bright. Herself included. She didn't know if her time within Winterhelm would remain enough to satiate her, didn't know if the people would be enough. But for their offer of a home, she'd try.

To reign in her emotions, the woman took to the rolling hills of snow. Evergreens lined their plains' outskirts, soldiers bending at the whim of their superior—a wind that blew orders within their pines. Resonating with them, her steps quickened and her head lifted the moment a winter's dinner wafted in a warmth that incited a rumbling of her stomach. Perhaps she would be able to paint today.

The thought lifted her lips at their corners slightly and then she was off, paws burning with the sharpness of the snow as they lifted her across a land still foreign to her. The mountains cast a dreary veil before her, coating the purity of the snow with a dark shadow. With the heady scent of a rabbit nothing more of a blitz across her senses, she was seeking it out again, desperation clinging to the pounding of her heart within its case.

---

@Ragweed

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Over the vast expanse of snowy mountains and dense woods, the wolf trudged. Footwork light despite his mass, Ragweed descended from the high peaks, his pale form crossing beneath thick evergreen trees, their branches laden with snow brushing against his back. The sun hung high above the horizon, glaring down through the thick clouds that misted the sky, casting long shadows across the summits. Behind him, he left behind soft craters in the fresh snowfall, a trail that would lead directly to the wolf should someone follow it.

He was on the trail of a critter, his brown nose twitching, nares flaring as he inhaled its scent. Its tracks weaved through the trees and disappeared into the underbrush, a fleeting target that Ragweed was more than thrilled to follow. He was swift upon his paws, moving with a quiet urgency through the snowy forest that lay beneath Northfall's peaks. 

The rabbit, unaware of its impending fate, nibbled on a patch of grass exposed beneath the snow it had shoveled aside. It lay clumped in a hefty mound, acting as a half shield for the creature, who hid behind the snowy hill of its craft. Its velvety ears twitched, attune to its surroundings as it chowed -- but it was far too slow to react as the gray wolf came tumbling from the brush, jaws agape. He snatched the white ball of fluff from its grassy patch, his own head jerking backwards in swift motion, jerking its neck out of socket with a crunch and snap that echoed through the windy branches.

And it was then the pale form of another wolf came rushing through the trees, bringing Ragweed to amply turn, his hefty form coiling with muscle that still thumped with adrenaline. There was no stopping the grin that pulled upon his mouth at the sight of the she-wolf whos hunt he had apparently soiled, but luckily for her, Ragweed had already eaten. His tail did not flag with sudden alertness at her presence, recognizing the scent of Khione and others melting into her own; she was of Winterhelm, one of the other newcomers Cain had told him about. But which one? 

Ragweed would determine that answer later, but for now, he tossed the rabbit to her paws, his tongue swiping the blood from his maw. “I bet you will run faster next time.” He spoke, arrogance bleeding of his tone.

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Yvaine could smell him before their paths crossed. The scent alone had her nose turning up while the urge to veer off and hunt something different knocked on the doors of her mind, but the woman didn't run. This hunt was hers, even despite how plentiful the rabbits were if one looked in the right places; she'd sought this one out and she'd be damned if it was taken from her.

The pale wolf was nothing more than a darting shadow between evergreens, quiet clouds of snow drifting up and wafting away in her wake. She pushed her speed to its brink, till her stride faltered as the weakness in her limbs registered and her breaths left her in a heave of white clouds. But none of it mattered, it all fell to nothing as she rounded an evergreen with light steps. Any form of exhaustion was wiped from her expression, replaced with something cold and full of disdain.

It only matured into something far darker the moment he threw a gentle jab at her, a jest she would've presumed—one nevertheless taken as nothing more than an insult. She watched unflinchingly as he tossed the mangled creature at her feet, a flash of red contrasting against the pureness of the snow it lay upon. The woman waited a moment before she picked the rabbit from where he'd thrown its body and took those few steps towards the brute. With her head held high, she parted her mouth and let the creature roll off her tongue, a soft crunch sounding as it met with the snow once more.

“I do not need, nor do I want your handouts, гончая.” — hound. The woman was proud, perhaps too prideful for her own good as she side-stepped the man and searched for something else. Even as her limbs cried out to her, as her scars tingled from the bite of the cold, and her head grew hazed, she would not let this man belittle her with something as meek as a rabbit. Her short tail flicked with irritance as she mustered her way through the snow again, a slow and evenly paced stride to keep what last bit of energy she had within its tank.

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His head, and neck, reeled backwards, gray eyes widening in surprise at the pale woman's retaliation. He didn't know just why he'd been so surprised by her reaction, hell, he saw it coming. Something about her simply caught him off guard, forcing him to take a distancing step backwards. A reaction she surely enjoyed. 

His eyes dropped to the bloodied rabbit she'd mangled at his paws, before they slowly careened towards her fleeting form, a gnarly smile growing upon his snout where his shocked grimace had been. “Just wait a second!” The wolf leaned down and quickly snapped the piece of prey up in his jaws, shoulders rolling as he moved quickly after her, disappearing through the shrubs just as she had. “Whot ish yur maim?” His words had been slurred and muffled through the mouthful of crimson fur he carried, muscular legs bringing him striding to her side. 

He was abrasive in the way he cut her off, his shoulder brushing harshly against hers; he paid no mind to the physical touch, unaware of just how rude it'd been. Vargrheim men and their lack of... manners; it had a history of driving women insane with rage and it was a mystery just how they managed to keep their bloodlines flowing fresh. Ragweed shoved the rabbit towards her, the blood smearing against the pale fur of her neck before he dropped it once more at her paws, nostrils flaring defiantly. 

“Ragweed.” He managed to exhale his name, though it was hardly decipherable through his ragged breathing. “I'm Ragweed.” He reiterated once he'd caught his breath. “Come on, eat it. Don't be so... stubborn.”

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The dame was seething by the time he rounded her side. It wasn't enough that he stole her hunt, he felt the need to agonize her further by accompanying her on the next? She bit her tongue to keep from snapping at him, from tearing that rabbit from his jowls just to rear back and slap him with it. Oh how she wanted to, just to see that glitter of shock dance across his face for a mere moment more. Good, she thought. Serves him right for underestimating her.

But then he'd touched her, pushed himself in front of her like he had a right to be there. It drove Yvaine mad and her paws itched with the urge to throw this man on his back, to prove a point that he so carelessly must've forgotten within the presence of a female. She hadn't, however, not for fear that she couldn't do it, but she was far too weak to finish a fight she'd started, held her place in Winterhelm as far too much a treasure to risk it. With the smell that clung to Ragweed's pelt, she was sure he'd run and complain the moment she so much as touched him. It irked her. He irked her.

Her upper lip lifted with distaste as he yet again dropped the kill at her feet, the dame uncaring for the blemish of red that now stained her clean, white coat. She spoke then with surprising calmness, her eyes narrowing. “It is your kill, and I do not share with such...” A pause, her eyes flitting over the man in front of her before she opted for something tame—reasonable. “strangers.”

She attempted to side-step him another time, choosing to utterly disregard his request for her name after he'd spoken it around his food moments prior. A ребенок, he was. A mere unmannered child. Eventually, he'd fall to his arrogance and Yvaine would find herself grinning, in one of the few rare times, as she watched his treacherous crumble. “See yourself off, Ragweed. Fortunately, you are not needed here.”

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If there was one thing about Ragweed, he was adamant. Unrelenting. He didn't know how to take no for an answer. Or, in this case, bugger off. He practically ignored it, the way she spat her words of venom in his face, side stepping them with a grace unbeknownst to him. He'd been served far worse dishes than the one Yvaine offered up, and the wolf simply huffed in her face, warm breath invading her personal space. 

“Where do you come from that you do not know strangers can become... non strangers?” Clearly, not the most graceful with his words. His dialect was brazen, coarse and it lacked poise--there was a degree of brutishness that clung to him that was unseen in the other wolves of Winterhelm. He was raw wilderness in the clothing of a wolf. Ragweed was not so blind that he couldn't see how harshly he grated upon her nerves, how he triggered the immune response that was her unsheathed fury. It was a blade honed to perfection and pressed firmly to his throat, threatening to slice. He was impressed. 

He liked when others played hard to get. So when she attempted to side step him, Ragweed mimicked her movements, coming to stand before her once more. A grin burned on his gruff face. 

“You can't make me leave. Dare say you're stuck with me. Eat the rabbit. It will go to waste if you do not.”

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“дурак.” — Fool. He reminded her of one of those dreadful flies that never left her be during the time of her healing, when they settled upon the scars of her back even in the final times that painted them a pink hue. He was just that—a fly who couldn't take a damn hint, or was too stupid to.

The woman took a step closer, her body warming underneath the rage scouring beneath her skin, hoping and praying to be let out. “I am aware of the concept. But I do not want to be a non-stranger to you.” She mimicked, biting out her words with something lethal that lurked beneath her tongue. The man was pressing on her nerves, pressing every button known to man in hopes it'd get a reaction out of her, push her into a corner. Her patience may be thin, but she wouldn't fall to this wolf's whim, to the desire he had in toying with her.

But then he'd stepped in front of her, again, effectively blocking her path with his behemoth form of a body. In her earlier years, she would've admired it, toyed with him in the way he did her, but that desire had run cold two years ago. With it gone, disgust replaced it, disinterest and impatience too. And that impatience arose and the last tendril of her patience snapped when he spoke. Listening to the petulant child was her breaking point. He'd stolen her kill, refused to leave her alone, and then implied she was wasteful.

It happened far faster than she thought it to. Before she knew it, she had a leg of the rabbit in her jowls and she swung it until it met with the cheek of Ragweed. There, in those few moments of shock, she lunged and the full force of her body collided with his. The distraction was her saving grace, his awareness faltering enough for her to have him buckling over onto his side, or his back; she didn't care. There, standing above him, teeth bared and eyes ablaze, she leaned down to whisper in that lethal tone once more. “Do not ever get in my way again, гончая.” — hound.

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By the howling wind! 

Instinctively, a snarl had pulled itself free of the wolf's mouth as the rabbit was smacked so harshly across his face. His head jerked to the side, gray eyes widening in response to the sudden jostle of his head--and then, before he could react, she had barreled him over. Through the snow his shoulder crashed, his large frame toppled by the woman, pale dust swirling into the air as a result. Every instinct in his body told him to move, to raise himself back up to his paws and to unleash a fiery wrath onto the woman. 

She knows not who she messes with. Something in his mind spoke, it rallied him, ushered him to his paws. But he didn't move, instead he remained collapsed in the snow, his gray eyes pulling upwards to stare upon the woman. Aghast. He was simply aghast. She practically hissed at him as if she were some murderous feline, and he caught her bright eyes, and he almost admired the passion that was present within her stare. He suddenly was flushed, he felt light -- there was a warmth that blossomed to life in his stomach, and fire blazed around his heart, bringing his blood to rush through his veins with a fervency it hadn't in... gods, years. "Guðir..." — Gods... Astonishment was flush within his voice. 


“You just keep surprising me, woman.” Ragweed hauled himself to his paws, though he was more cautious this time, as if she were a fire that was soon to explode at any second. She was unpredictable, and it excited the man. He was a dare devil at heart, and poor Yvaine knew not that her attempts at shooing him away only willed him to stay longer. In fact, he would seek her out time and time again. Their friendship was written in the stars, it was forged by the blacksmiths of yore. “Do me the honor of knowing your name, warrior.” He would request once more.

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There was nothing this man could do. Neither word nor action he could bestow upon her that would have her shrinking where she stood, falling into a cower at the mere sight of him. No, this woman was bloodthirsty, utterly driven by the ammunition he'd given her in hopes of feeding that beast that lay dormant beneath her pelt. He was smart enough to know something was there, but not simply just irritability. Yvaine should've anticipated it, willed her emotions into that empty cauldron, or even let them drain so she was indifferent again. But by some power, some wayward ability this brute held, he'd managed to so profoundly get beneath her skin.

Yvaine's paws tightened within the snow at either side of his head, and his snarl met with a careful snap of her jaws. The woman was no fool to think he couldn't push her off, reverse what had been done, and do unto her what she had to him. She anticipated it, actually, so it was a surprise to hear not frustration in his voice, but...awe. She scoffed and retracted herself from him. That was when she decided she truly hated him, not enough to maim him where he lay beneath her, but enough to cast him as something never worth her time.

She didn't need his acknowledgment, the approval apparent in his gaze, or a lovestruck hippie that he'd soon become. He'd hold her back, tie her down, or worse: make her throw herself to the thralls of a winter's river because he wouldn't leave her be. Giving her name would only keep him around that much longer, give him that tie that she only wished to hold far, far away from him. “Why.” Not a question, but an order. Why does he feel he has the right to her name, the right to be by her at all? Time and time again, he'd blatantly ignored her requests, ignored her own wants, but yet he wanted her to fulfill his?

Another scoff. He was a fool who'd learn. Either by her own hand, or someone else's.

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Why? Why did he wish to know her name? Ragweed, for a moment, stared at the woman... dumbfounded. Gobsmacked. Confused. Slightly irritated, even. For what other reason would one seek to know the name of another person? What, did she presume he needed it to place some hex on her? Curse her bloodline, her children's children? His thick brows, sliced with scars, furrowed above his stone gaze -- he felt as if he were an idiot. 

She surely thought him one. She had made that much clear.

The Warrior was eager to figure out the way her mind worked, to determine what made the gears within her mind churn. By his judgement, she was a wild card. A woman that burned with passions, with fire. There was anger in her, an anger Ragweed knew. An anger he had felt before. His head tilted slightly to the right, watching the woman silently.

And then he spoke. 

“Why not?” He took her words and he turned them around on her, using them against her--he challenged her, a warm fire burning to life within him.

“Why. Not.” 

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Yvaine didn't know what she could do to keep this male off her back, to keep him away, if it was even possible. Again and again, he'd come back for more, more of her physical and verbal abuse. Had he not gotten enough? Couldn't he see that she wasn't worth knowing? That she didn't want to get to know him? She was sure he did and would have bet her life on it, but he just didn't care. He didn't care and so he kept pushing, she wondered why about that too.

The woman's teeth bared as he shot her words back at her, taking the question in stride instead of letting it shake her like she was sure he intended it to. “You do not deserve it.” Her head rose and the scars on her back throbbed but she wouldn't back down, he couldn't make her. “You have forcefully pushed yourself into my life, do you think that means I must automatically accept you with open arms? Do you think that just because you ask for my name, that I should fall to my knees and give it to you? Do you deserve that from me?”

The woman's face settled back into that cold indifference, her breaths easing as she stared at the other unabashedly. With a calmness rivaling their earlier words, “Ragweed, you deserve nothing from me. But, we live in the same home, eat at the same meals, and rejoice in the same traditions year-round; you will undoubtedly figure out my name, whether it be through Adonis or Khione themselves.” Her gaze slid across the man, taking in his scars with nothing more than a twitch of her lip. He didn't deserve her appreciation, her acknowledgment that he was a man to begin with—a brutish one, but a man nonetheless.

It was partly that reason that she gave him something, a small trivial thing. “My name is Yvaine.” But this was also a futile battle, she knew he'd exhaust all means to figure out the name she carried. Hell, he might even be stupid enough to try and figure out her story, what made her, molded her into something deadly. He would be lucky to walk away from that conversation.

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Ferocity. Resilience. 

She was unwavering. 

She was fire. 

In the face of such scrutiny, Ragweed was unflinching; he had faced it all his life, and the hate that she spewed now would not deter the wolf. He had been made for situations such as these, his soul was iron and he was born of it. An unflinching wolf who had walked through fire and back, who had slain dragons with nothing more than his blade, who had fell other men, who had conquered battles and tasted defeat. She said he did not deserve to know her name, but he knew that he did. Her words did not make it any less true.

She seethed, she was metal that melted into nothing but lava, searing at the touch of his cool resolve. When she stopped speaking for just mere moments, he found the opening to edge his words in, to speak before she wound up her next attack. “It is a simple question.” Ragweed spoke, humility breathing of his voice. He found it astonishing her dramatics, the way she so viscerally denied him the right to her name. Was it some sacred item to be earned from where she came from, like one's heart? What was the reason for her to be so vehement in guarding her identity from him. 

“I should not have to deserve your name, that is a bit of a ridiculous sentiment.” He argued. Yet she continued on, assaulting him with her next flurry of sentences that bound themselves tight around his neck, threatening to restrict all airflow from him. But she cooled, her breathing growing steady -- she looked upon him with a cool indifference, one Ragweed found was foreign upon her. Since he'd met her only minutes ago, he had only known her fiery. Angry. Irritated. He smiled, it was cocky and arrogant. It appeared his entire body willed itself to enrage her, to test her limits.

How far would Ragweed go? 

Not much farther, seeing as she finally said her name. Yvaine. It was rather fitting for a woman made of snow and hail. 

“Now, was that so hard?” The viking asked. “Now -- I will leave you alone.” Ragweed spoke, announcing his soon to be exit -- but not before he leaned down languidly, snatching the rabbit she had beaten him with up with his jaws. Then he began his stroll away, gait full of pride. He believed he had won. 

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His mistake was thinking she was anything like him, like the people he was raised beside. She was nothing close, nothing beyond a ball of raging fire that had been festering for a millenia. She supposed she couldn't fault his own assumptions. She supposed that given her new home, she should learn their customs, their norm as opposed to clinging to the one from her past.

He didn't know that her name was sacred, sacred in the way it was burned into her mind only after she'd been deemed worthy of the calling. He didn't know that she was referred to as a mutt until that time came, until she fought and killed her way to the top. He didn't know that her name, the only detail of herself she held dear, was only to be granted to those she trusted. But he'd pried it from her cold grip, questioned her morals as if they were anything but as important as she deemed them to be.

Something as simple as a name to him, something so feeble in his eyes, was the last shred of control Yvaine held.

“A ridiculous sentiment to you, Ragweed, could mean the world to another. You are not the first man to walk this earth, you will not be the last. There are worlds upon worlds just within this one, and yet you belittle something you find unfamiliar? Why? Because the morals are not your own?” Her brows furrowed in slight disappointment, as if beneath all the fire she'd hoped he held some semblance of decency.

It was futile, she realized, and that was all it took to have her remain silent as he mocked her. What point was there to keep arguing with him, to keep giving him more and more entertainment? Short of killing her, it'd give her a headache irreparable in his presence. But then she'd watched, watched as he marched away from her in...triumph? The woman's chest flared with heat as she bit her tongue, but her steps moved her forward and after him.

“You owe me the work of a hunt.” She grunted when her pace evenly matched his, narrowed gaze sliding to his briefly before it was pinned to the snow ahead of them. She'd regret it, she knew she would, but her energy had dissipated. Her legs throbbed with an ache she hadn't been able to rid herself for days now, and he'd stolen the thing she'd used the rest of her energy for. It'd only be fair for him to find her something else, not that she'd eat it anyway.

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Ragweed was resilient in the face of Yvaine, though as unflinching as he was, she cut him deeply beneath the surface. Wounded his pride, damaged his ego; a victory she'd surely been intending on. From stone eyes he watched her, and he was a victim to her words that lashed at him like fiery tendrils. He'd been ignorant and underestimated the significance of her name, what it meant to her, and the weight of which it bear upon her. instilled in him was a sense of pragmatism and straightforwardness. To him, a name was a label, a means of identification, and he saw no reason to make it so sacred.

And then in his attempt at disappearing from her life as she wished, of course until he decided to reenter, he heard her strides approaching with a speed intent on catching up to him. Her relentless pursuit amused him, amused him to great lengths; Ragweed couldn't deny the attraction of a challenge, even if it was as unorthodox as this one. If he pained her so much, why did she seek to follow him? If he was such a thorn in the pale woman's side, why was she still here? Following after him, prolonging their visit. When he turned his head to look at her, nothing but a cocky grin was painted upon his face, his eyes glowing with mischief. What he'd say was already audible upon his face before he'd said it.

“Are you sure you don't just want to hang out with little 'ol me?” He mused, his gait which had been languid before now preppy and light. He felt as if he were soaring above the clouds, excitement rooted in his joints.

“Very well!” He spoke through his grin. his voice carrying a touch of arrogance. “Under one condition: we share.”

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Yvaine didn’t know what had urged her to flee after Ragweed. She blamed it on the hunt he’d stolen, the smugness she wanted to wipe from his face, but she truly didn’t know why. Something kindled in her chest, similar to when she was alongside Merel, marveling in the woman’s company. Similar. Similar. Similar. It left a sour taste in her mouth.

She picked up her head when she met with the male’s side, blinking with disinterest at his grin before she scowled and rolled her eyes. He was a charmer, that much he outwardly displayed. She despised it. Despised his grins, his remarks, his blatant disrespect. And yet, she was drawn to him. Drawn in the way curiosity leers upon one’s mind, jaws wide and inviting. She wanted to push him to his knees, watch that grin crumble into something worthy of her acknowledgment, of a smile. She wanted to prove herself better, stronger.

Her back straightened as she tore her head away. “I’d rather face the wrath of Adonis.” And so, she’d do just that. However long it took, however that vision would come to life, she’d make him bow for her. A sense of thrill trickled down her spine and she shuddered. To anyone else who knew the topic of the conversation, they’d assume it was purely out of disgust that sent her muscles tensing.

Yvaine forced something dark and twisted to her mouth, a remnant of the smile disclosed within her heart. “So long as you keep your bugs on your side of the meal.”

With that, the woman let her pace quicken; food was heavy on her mind and soon the presence of the male was forgotten, if only temporarily.

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I'd rather face the wrath of Adonis. With those words, a prickle of apprehension was sent unfurling down the length of the warrior's backside, his spine shuddering in response. For a woman who hadn't seen that so called wrath yet, she spoke boldly. Ragweed, however, had -- and it was an unnerving thought. He'd never been on the receiving end of it; in truth, the future Jarl had been too good to waste his time on worms like Ragweed. He scoffed for a moment, a tsk that'd only be audible if she'd been listening for it. He wasn't the biggest fan of Adonis, but he was however a fan of his brother. Cain. A warmth exploded in his chest at the thought of his friend. A warmth that was peculiar and immediately shoved aside, swapped in favor of something more pleasing.

Like that of a hunt. 

Ragweed knew exactly where to go to find the pick of the crop. He crested one of many rocky, snow laden hills that made up Northfall, his gray eyes staring down into the forests below. There, a Caribou mother and her yearling, a few yards away from the main herd in search of greenery to feast on. Their noses shoveled at the fresh snow fall, laying the frosted and dead grass beneath out bare for them to chew away at. A smile grew upon Ragweed's snout as he descended the slopes, casting a knowing look back at Yvaine, one that was cocky and impersonal. “Watch and learn.” His voice was hushed but one couldn't hiss the arrogance that bled of it. He was either going to successfully carry out his hunt, or bitterly embarrass himself -- and he couldn't figure out which one Yvaine was counting on. Sure, she would enjoy to see him fall flat on his ass and yet on the other hand... she'd go hungry. 

Blessed with a coat of silvers and snow, Ragweed easily moved through the stark landscape, cautious and quiet as a lamb. One paw in front of the other, he was a hunter cloaked in the shadows of the snow weighted trees, slipping in and out view as he stalked closer and closer. So close that he could hear their breathing past the thickets before him, hungered eyes peeling across their thick pelts. The mother was no longer protective of her child and she'd flee the moment Ragweed appeared, leaving the yearling to defend for herself; pathetic, truly -- but that much easier for the brute to bring down his quarry- the snap of a twig. Ragweed's breath hitched and his eyes immediately pulled downwards, viciously raking over the stick that'd appeared almost out of nowhere beneath his paw. And then, his eyes pulled upwards to the Caribou who immediately gawked in his direction. Within seconds, they sprinted, but Ragweed had already been scrambling from his thicket, tearing like a nightmare across the frosted forest floor. 

Power and adrenaline rushed into his haunches as they stiffened and unhinged, propelling the brute forwards; for once, the arrogant Ragweed was silent and fell into a deadly focus, precise in his hunt. Claws struck against the backside of the yearling and dug in instinctively as he clambered onto its back, ragdolling his weight atop the two-toed to bring her crashing down into the snow. His jaws clamped down around the back of her neck and viciously the wolf tugged and shook, relishing in the savory taste of blood as it rushed from the floodgates of the piece of prey. Snap. Dead. Ragweed didn't relinquish his grip until he heard the last whining breath leave the yearlings nostrils, and then he lifted himself up from the death tango, tongue sliding across his maw. 

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For a moment, Yvaine had let her gaze shift over the other, observing the way her words had him reacting and allowing the brief notion of confusion to shine within her gaze. He was as hard to read as the man who'd approached her first, Adonis, even she could say she favored Khione beyond what she ever would in regards to the male. But Ragweed was not like the cold sheet of ice that was Adonis; he was discomfortably warm, the silent drip of an icicle against stone. He was hard, marred with both internal and external scars that even she wouldn't dare comment on, but yet still, there was warmth behind his gaze. Joy and mirth. She didn't get it, didn't understand it.

Perhaps that's what made her dislike him so. Why she was so envious.

The thought was forgotten when his arrogance met her ears again. Sure, she was envious of that. The thought was laughable the moment his mouth parted. Nevertheless, she'd listen and take residence in the spot he vacated, crawling on her stomach until her paws hung over the edge enough to allow her grip and view of the field below. Ragweed was good, she'd give him that. He knew where to fall, where to hide amidst the snow that did little favor to the pelt he adorned. Still, he was patient and slick with his movements, taking such great care in the hunt that it was hard for the woman to draw her gaze away.

Then, as if the fates were eating out of her fruitful palms, he'd made a mistake. It shouldn't have warmed the woman's chest as much as it had, shouldn't have lifted the frowning corners of her lips into a smile, but it couldn't be helped. She delighted in his downfall far too much; in earnest, she couldn't imagine how good it would feel for it to be something greater than a mere hunt that he fumbled in. How sweet his embarrassment would feel on the bitterness of her tongue. Yvaine grinned widely as she slipped from her place, steps light within the snow as she followed after the brute.

She observed even as her steps thundered between the trees alongside the fleeing caribou. Gods, he was...remarkable. Messy, she supposed, but she'd never seen a hunt like that. Hell, the only thing she had hunted was a mere pheasant with Merel. Even then, she'd been struggling for breath and trembling, seeking out solace away from the woman so that she might recuperate without a watchful eye. But this...she'd never seen anything like it.

Her gaze widened a margin before she crept out from within the trees, head shifting to the side while her eyes swallowed him whole. She was searching for something, and when it seemed to come up empty, something in her shoulders eased. She didn't question it, not now. Instead, she dipped her head to sniff at his game, eyes not daring to waver from where he stood. “You did well.” She would've remarked. Because he had. The woman wouldn't lie to him about that, even despite how many sizes she knew his head would grow. “Is this your first?” She couldn't help herself, couldn't stop it as the words left her lips with a mirth she couldn't contain.

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