Blackfeather Woods Where good girls go to die

Then she snapped completely, and the boy was suddenly filled with the oddest feeling. Power. The knowledge that his words could do this, shatter and break and dent, had him awestruck, and he dearly longed to find out more of their power. 

But now now was not the time. She lunged forward, confused and angered and perhaps many other things the boy could not glean. His gaze turned to Atshen, and within it shone a burning gleam. Now was the time. He lunged forward, fangs beared, long ago had he shed his childish fangs and now his were those of an assassins, much like his mother's. These fangs soared toward the woman with reckless abandon, for now, smoke and obsidian would fight together, instead of each other, and he felt no mercy toward the broken trespasser before him. His fangs soared straight for her neck, and should his grip land he would attempt to wrestle her head down to the ground, knowing that the breath of obsidian beside him moments ago would surely be in motion as well.