Meadowlark Prairie baby, you wouldn't last a minute on the creek

Zhenya pulls back with a wince and a whine, though not quick enough to save her limb from the woman's jaws. Enierhičny, yes? she cooes with a sickly lilt. An expedited moment is taken to wipe the pain from her frame and try to regain her hold on the woman, surely ready to make her escape, though the pain in Zhenya's newly injured forearm is too much for her in the moment. A bark and a snarl rip from her maw as she attempts to go in for another attack, the metallic nectar still dripping from her chin.