Twisted Slough You've never seen a bastard orphan [m]ore in need of a break

There was no memory within this man of the last time he'd been privy to a game. The closest had been when he'd encountered his shadow the first time; they had run together, tussled, but it had been harsh and wild. This was something altogether different — she was dashing around him, nipping but without catching the skin, staying just out of reach but begging him with the curve of her body to get close and touch.

There was a black void in Tryphon's mind when he tried to think back beyond Saghani. But the actions came to him easily enough; an instinctive dance. He dove in to try and grab at the pale girl, but following her lead, he snapped too soon, or let the thin tendrils of her fur slip through his teeth without damage. His path circumnavigated her own, and they moved in tandem for a time, or in reverse, always drawing close and pulling apart.

Something about the way she moved tempted him, and Tryphon did not understand. Her perfume dominated the air. He was intoxicated and getting closer.