shoooooort
There were stains across her fur, blackened red like the pulpy remnants of charred cherries had been smeared into her coat. The sable-furred woman was suspicious of this man with his strange markings and the dusting of pale white in his fur—there were no such marks of aging on her yet, and the shadow-furred woman was thoroughly black, her fur highlighted with just a hint of chestnuts and henna reds here and there. His was far more grizzled, peppered with paler hints and stark white intentionally dyed markings.
She did not approach him; instead, she remained where she was, her head tilted back, her shining gold-green eyes burning with confidence that seemed to falter at the man's question. Then, the chartreuse gaze reflected on him with questions lurking there, wondering what connection he had to that man, wondering how he knew—she did not know she positively stank of him, of course. His scent had melded with her own, entwining into her fur, masked to her. “I don't know,” she admitted, suspicion lingering across her face. What old trickery or magic was this? Now she took a few steps toward him, closing some of the distance between them, though Eris still remained a good way away from him.
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