Cerulean Cape Covered my soul with grit and coal

Too uninterested to turn her head for any small degree, the stark wretch spied a shadow in her peripheral. She ignored it at first, until the figure had become too large to be a non-threat, and she was forced to finally afford herself a glance towards the amorphous black blot. Reflexively freezing, Furiosa committed the very rare act of a double-take— and sure enough, she recognized him.

It had been some time ago, but she remembered the hellhound quite clearly. She had received one of her "better" scars from those teeth, and she didn't easily forget a set of jaws that had ever touched her skin in violence. He had disrespected her before, perhaps because she was not traditionally beautiful, or more likely because (in her opinion) he was a homosexual. But he did not make that mistake now.

His militant, straight-backed trot had angled away from her, though even at this distance she could tell his eyes were intently trained on her. Furiosa was amused, to say the least, and because she further craved company to belittle, the wicked she-wolf picked a high trot through the sand with obvious intent to intercept him.