Blackfeather Woods It's not like you're unpredictable

The fae's voice tugged Nyx from her squabble with nothing, white eyeliner arched dangerously low. She still dripped of vomit, and let's just say it wasn't a pleasant experience. Her beautiful pelt of stardust, simply ruined by a sick prisoner than she was trying to fix up. She grumbled at the other. She was not cleaning up her mess, if that is what she was thinking.

Yes, me; the one wolf trying to fix you up. How is your neck now, vomit girl? She spat. She knew deep down nothing of it had been intentional, but it still kinda felt that way.