on the brink

"Do you, now?" That hoarse, heavy accent marks her triumphant smile as she steps closer, her coat shaking out. "I've a habit of meeting many women here, it seems." A slight jab, perhaps, or something to let this one know that she was not the first Bylgja had met on these cliffs. She swings a shoulder; the axe, and its sling, slip down to her side. "The other I met here fought a bear for my attention," the warrior boasts, her chest puffed out. "But I suppose there's nothing here for you to fight but me."

It is not...

... forbidding. It is welcoming, in the sort of way that a warrior woman like Bylgja is.