Dragoncrest Cliffs sheidgeda

It wasn't going to hurt - much. Seregryn desired some bloodshed and she was intent on getting what she wanted. But she had no intention of taking the girl's life, or even harming her too badly. Just enough. Just a taste, to prove her strength and remove an obstacle. There was no time to think once she dove towards the girl's dark silhouette.

And then there was a roar. A familiar voice — a grip held across the fos goufa's scruff — and she was thrown in to the dirt, a stain upon the snow. If her anger had been a burning pyre before, now it became an inferno.

She bared her teeth and droned a low note, a dangerous sound prefacing a sudden lurch as she tried to stand; but of course, Thuringwethil would be there. Whether she was shoved down again or not, Seregryn did come to her senses when the fog of her rage began to clear. The scent and sight of her heda was enough to placate her for the time being.

Seregryn remained silent, but between glaring at the snow in front of her face and shooting Emaleth dangerous facial expressions, it was clear that she wanted to finish the job.