They came in waves it seemed, ever seeking, ever lusting. Each that appeared at the fringes of the trees were spurned with a snarl, her tapered muzzle lifting up so that the sienna and slate gray that begins on her top jaw twists upon itself, lending a striking look to her a yellowed eyes. The white streaks in those same eyes seem to stand out against the glare of yellow as her ears press back and the black and white across her back rises with her fur. Arace is a lovely mix of timber and arctic, her body willowy and tall but with muscle beneath her thick fur and hips that could power her into swift assaults. Combined with the pheromones she leaks it is no wonder that many strangers come to call, hoping that she will be driven wild by her own need, but she is strong. Steadfast.

Her goal has not been met.

When the taste of her brother's blood coats her jaws then she will be sated. For now she would deter those who came closer. Starting with a massive male who slinks across the rocky earth towards her. He reeks of danger and lust and a stench of something rotting. It is intriguing and infuriating all at once. Her eyes track his movements with calculation, a low growl rolling across her tongue at his suave words. Arace's ears swivel forward to catch his words but there is little sign of what she makes of them for a few moments, her growl still rumbling strong.

'What is in Iromar that could tempt me? I have little need of a pack.' The voice that speaks is sly and feminine, lovely and crystalline. The kind of voice that could warp a man. Make him think that she is sweet and coy only to find her teeth at his throat in moments. Arace does not hide her own aggression at his presence, however, although interest sharpens her eyes. His colors... they could very well match her brothers. It is that alone which makes her take a step towards the male. He reeks of dominance, her own fighting against his. Arace lifts her nose and inhales deep, as if she is as intrigued by him as he is her - and she is. Just for vastly different purposes.

Then she slinks closer, head lower and lean legs graceful. She moves with a puissance that was innate, sharpened by the tools her father had given her. Right up to him she goes, pausing so that their noses are only inches apart. Her face is open, expressive, as if she is captivated. That is, until she snaps at his face, lunging in with the intent to rip his jaw to shreds. Maybe puncture an eye. The need to fight is back, driven by her primal urges, and his own power calls to her. Besides, it wouldn't hurt if he just happened to be the one she was looking for.