Duck Lake know what you want

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Where her guest thrives on amoral deceit, Ixchel has never consorted outside of her own personality— has never been anyone but herself. She could appreciate the art of the chameleon, but understandably did not tolerate its use against her. If she could sniff out a lie, then the bridge was already burned. Fortunately for him, however, she had little to no experience with the more dishonest breeds of her kind, which made her an easier target, if not a more vengeful one. She lifted her brows at his daring observation of her, though chose not to comment on whether it was valid or not.

She had only recently come into touch with her more dominant whims, finding that throughout her life she had favored no ones opinion more than her own; making it high time to carve her legacy somewhere her blood sang for the soil. But she would not find satisfaction here with this proverbial pond. Not when she knew the sea. Not when she had tread such insurmountable power before.

His second statement, she chose to answer— a cruel and dashing smirk splitting the line of her straight muzzle. Peace rarely ever is. One could even say peace was an antonym to excitement— and at any rate they were about to throw a funeral, not a birthday party. I suppose I’ll have to show them a good time then, she announced, rising suddenly to her paws and fleeing down the hill like a glorious spear, her body honing in on several kills.
 

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