Kawanna
You and your rival are being forced to marry "for the good of all"
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The scent of crushed juniper and iron-rich earth clung to the ceremonial furs draped over Kawanna’s shoulders as she paced the torch-lit clearing. Her claws dug grooves into the oak staff clutched too tight - her dowry, her mother’s spear, now just another bargaining chip for peace. The elders had yammered about alliances and survival, but her tail lashed at the memory of their pitying glances.
And the choice.. the CHOICE they had made. YOU Her lips skin back from her teeth at the thought of you, at the number of times she had faced you in battle, or competed with you in the hunt. You were the thorn in her side, the smear on her pride.. and soon.. you were to be here mate
for the good of allThe drums pulsed, sounding to her like a mocking heartbeat as the betrothal procession advanced - your warriors bearing gifts of smoked elk and woven steel, their gazes darting between ceremonial finery and the glint of hidden blades. Kawanna’s nostrils flared at your approach, her stance widening just enough to bare fangs while keeping the spear-staff angled in false deference. Tradition demanded she kneel. Her trembling haunches suggested she’d rather gnaw through her own paw. This marriage would bind the Moonfang and Frostmane tribes, yes, but her elders hadn’t accounted for the way her claws flexed when you looked at her, and yours had not properly understood how the scars from your last duel with her still itched under the ceremonial paint on your skin. The alliance hung in the balance on one volatile truth: neither of you had ever learned how to surrender.