Meadow

Smug is not the word that fits best, but it rises to mind as she watches him prowl closer, his dark eyes glittering with what could be mischief, although she suspected something darker. Ingrid was never entirely certain that she could trust the crimson creature, even as he sank into an elaborate bow that sent the shell-pink corners of her mouth to twitching in a grin. There was something about his mere presence that promised a life full of danger and surprise, whether it came from him or happened to him.

And yet, she did not veer away from him as she probably ought to.

How dreadful, he murmured theatrically, and she repressed a smile. She doubted that the sanguine omen before her had ever shied away from the prospect of violence, although she had a hard time imagining him as the typical, testosterone driven male antagonist. He seemed both too sophisticated and far too cunning to commit the sort of fumbling brutality she'd come to expect in most men; she had no way to prove her suspicions, but if she had to guess, she expected that any retribution meted out by Ma'alruin would be far more creative and devastating.

It wasn't necessarily a mark in his favor.

It's a wonder the ermine doesn't quiver with fear, Ma'alruin continued, and Ingrid's golden eyes glittered but she suppressed the laugh that rose into a soft exhale of breath that plumed dramatically in the frigid air. The thought of trembling before an opponent once would have seemed abhorrent, even as one of the sisters that had focused on learning the stories of old rather than on battle prowess. Now, she had grown a little more wise to the world and had learned by necessity that honor was not often found in the likes of these islanders, and that the style of fighting she'd grown up with, in which opponents faced each other with a mutual acknowledgement of the necessity of the fight, did not exist here.

Here, predators were everywhere, and their prey anyone they found unawares.

The overo's attempt to conceal her humor fails at his second comment and she hummed softly in amusement. "Too bitter for the likes of mere mortals, to be sure." Pressing the smile flat between her lips, she tipped her head forward to acknowledge his success. "Be they fox or horse."

She does not back down from his proximity, although the black cape along her back bristles with the threat he poses. Months, if not years, stretched between this moment and the last time they'd separated, and she was wiser now, and even less likely to trust. Up close, it is almost easier to ignore their size difference, as if his additional height was made up for in the stockiness of her northern ancestors. He was fine where she was coarse, but it was arguable to say who had the more arresting appearance. Ingrid might have been painted in dramatic monochrome, but he glittered like freshly shed blood even now, with his fur grown thick for the cold.

"I would not have expected to find a desert fox so far north. Salem too dusty for your liking?" Ingrid had eventually learned of the other islands and of their climates, although the desolate description given to the southernmost isle did not spark any interest from her. It sounded worse than Atlantis with it's unnatural jungle, and that was saying something. Ma'alruin, however, seemed like the sort that would thrive beneath the godforsaken heat.

Ingrid was pretty sure she'd melt.