Blackbeak Bluff I'll admit I tripped on your waistline

She didn't know the knave's name. She'd long since decided it was Chlamydia, because he just kept coming back again and again and again. She'd thought she was well out of his range, but groaned low in her throat when she lifted her head to look out across the beach and noted that cocky little saunter. Son of a bitch, she thought, and quickly gathered her feet and what was left of her sturgeon. By the time he meekly mumbled out whatever the hell he'd said, Wylla was on her feet and ready to beat a hasty retreat.

"The fuck do you want now? Haven't you ruined my life enough yet?" she hissed through the fish as she surveyed his uncharacteristically subordinate stance. Ironically, Wylla didn't know how much Raptor actually had changed her life; she was oblivious to that. She just assumed he was here to cause more shit as always. He'd always acted like a jackass who thought he was better than her and held himself like one, too. What changed? Maybe the fact that he liked storing his sword in a real sheath was enough to make him come crawling back, but if Raptor thought he was gonna get seconds, he was dead wrong. She fixed him with a stormy glare and her hackles flared like wildfire down her spine.

She wasn't feeling a fight, but she'd give him one if he tried it.